I 


UP  FROM  GEORGIA 


By  FRANK  L.  STANTON 

Author  of 
"Songs  of  the  Soil,"  etc. 


iorft 

D.  APPLETON  &?  COMPANY 
1902 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIo 


COPYRIGHT,  1902 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


PuUisTicil  October, 


To 

JOEL   CHANDLER   HARRIS 


These  echoes  from  the  Georgian  hills 

And  violet-vales  of  May 
That  love  your  name,  and  in  your  fame 

Shine  o'er  the  world  to-day. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  singers I 

Wedded 2 

Down  on  the  old  plantation           ......  4 

The  world-way  of  the  South          ......  6 

Christmas  times  in  Georgia  .......  8 

In  an  old  inn 10 

A  song  of  her  lover      ........  12 

An  old  man's  musing 14 

A  morning  song  .........  16 

A  little  cot 18 

The  way  Old  Glory  goes 20 

When  the  old  man  got  religion     .        .         .         .         .         .21 

Here's  hopin'        .........  24 

Two  pictures        .........  26 

When  the  fall  time  comes     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  27 

The  merry  round          ........  28 

In  wind  and  rain .29 

Return,  sweet  day 32 

Life's  wayside  inn        ........  33 

Evening  song       .........  3^ 

Along  life's  way  .........  36 

The  dream 37 

The  volunteer 39 

"Hold  on  awhile" 40 

V 


CONTENTS 


The  fall  of  frost 41 

The  story  of  the  bonnet         .......  42 

The  prayer  for  rain       ........  45 

The  later  rest        .........  49 

At  roll  call  .         .         .......         .  51 

The  last  of  the  grenadiers    .         .         .         .         .         .         .  52 

He  dances  life  away      ........  55 

Dear  little  fellow           .....                   .         .  56 

In  the  branch 58 

His  best   ..........  60 

Ten  acres  and  Mary     ........  61 

In  Halleluia  Town       . 62 

A  song  in  April    .........  64 

In  fields  of  bloom         ........  65 

The  morning        .........  67 

When  Jenny  came  along       .......  68 

In  campmeetin'  time     .........  69 

The  ship's  coming  home       .         .         .         .         .         .  71 

"Tollable  well!" 72 

A  poor,  plain  colonel   ........  73 

Before  a  fine  oak  fire 74 

An  answered  prayer     ........  76 

Blooms 77 

At  the  opera 78 

Our  country's  call          . 80 

As  the  boys  go  marching  by          .         .         .         .         .         .81 

The  miracle  days           ........  83 

A  pretty  good  world -85 

Singing  him  to  sleep    ........  87 

The  blessed  rain 89 

vi 


CONTENTS 


Out  in  the  weather 90 

An  Indian-summer  day          .......     91 

A  rockaby  song    .........     92 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain   ........     93 

Hoe  your  row       .........     94 

His  time  for  singing     ........     95 

The  colored  dancing  match  ......     96 

"  Des  a  HT  cabin  " 100 

A  springtime  philosopher     .......    102 

Two  views  of  it    .         .         .         .         •         .         .         .         .    104 

The  way  to  the  melon  patch 105 

Swing  dem  sisters         ........    106 

For  Christmas  grace 107 

A  field  song         .........    108 

A  song  of  to-morrow   .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .no 

March  and  April in 

His  song  of  money       .          .         .         .         .         .         .         .112 

The  way  love  leads       .         .         .         .         .         .         .          .   113 

Dear,  toiling  hands      .         .         .         .         .          .         .         .114 

The  victory  of  peace     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .   1 1 7 

Jean 121 

The  ride  with  Molly 122 

The  woman's  song        .         .         •         .         .         .         .         .124 
Her  talking  eyes  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .126 

The  little  one  away 127 

What  the  toys  said 129 

Miss  Mary 131 

We'll  get  on  the  brighter  side 132 

Naming  the  baby 133 

How  the  old  man  went  home 135 

vii 


CONTENTS 


Dat's  my  liT  boy 137 

The  absence  of  Philip 138 

The  rippling  of  Old  Glory    .         .         .         .         .         .         .   139 

Just  whistle          .........   140 

What  the  car  wheels  sang    .......   142 

Morning  and  night       .         .         .         .         .         .         .          .145 

A  song  of  life       .........   146 

The  call  of  freedom      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .148 

A  prayer  of  gifts  ........    149 

To  the  fields 150 

Alone  with  the  dream 151 

A  ballad 152 

A  song  of  hope     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .   153 

On  the  march        .........    154 

The  oft-told  tale 155 

To  a  singer  .........   156 

The  passing  of  a  hero  .         .         .         .         .         .         .160 

The  voice  of  the  South 164 

A  Georgia  courtship     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .166 

The  sweetest  of  memory's  bells .172 

Rain 174 

William  McKinley 176 


Vlll 


THE  SINGERS 

Chorus  of  singers,  day  by  day — 
Thick  in  the  world  they  throng ; 

But  mark  ye,  masters  !  the  weary  way 
Is  sweet  for  the  sake  of  song ! 

Not  song  that  soars  to  the  heights  above— 
That  thrills  through  the  vista'd  years ; 

But  it  brings  the  light  to  the  eyes  of  love. 
And  is  sweet  with  the  gift  of  tears. 

No  song  that  pictures  the  battle-strife— 
For  there  are  the  singers  grand ; 

There  are  greater  deeds  in  the  vales  of  life 
Than  on  heights  where  the  heroes  stand. 

Chorus  of  singers  !     The  world  hath  need 
Of  the  humbler  strains  that  fall 

On  the  wayside  lone — on  the  paths  that  lead 
To  the  light  that  shines  for  all. 


WEDDED 

Well,  you  are  wedded,  and  around  your  life 
Twine  two  great  joys ;  for  some  one  calls  you  wife, 

And  child-lips  murmur  :  "  Mother  !  "  and  you  smile 
After  long  years  of  sorrow  and  heart-strife. 

Smile  up  into  the  eyes  that  meet  your  own — 
Feel  the  strong,  sheltering  arm  around  you  thrown 
And  with  the  loveliest  words  of  love  you  while 
The  hours  away,  no  longer  dark  and  lone. 

You  feel  the  clinging  of  your  child ;  you  feel 
His  arms  about  your  neck ;  his  kisses  steal 
Away  the  sigh  that  trembles  to  your  lips 
When  faithful  Memory  doth  some  face  reveal 

From  out  the  fading  past ;  but  tears  or  sighs 

Are  not  for  your  sweet  lips — for  your  bright  eyes ; 

What  earthly  joy  can  now  your  joy  eclipse  ? 
For,  choosing  well,  your  love  could  be  but  wise. 

And  yet,  I  fancy  that  upon  your  brow 
There  is  a  faint,  sad  shadow  resting  now ; 

The  bended  head  droops  lower,  till  at  last 
Your  weeping  face  in  your  pale  hands  you  bow 

2 


WEDDED 


And  give  yourself  to  grief !      Is  it  not  so  ? 
A  voice  calls  to  you  from  the  long  ago — 

A  hand  is  stretched  toward  you  from  the  past 
And  joy  is  lost  in  bitterness  and  woe  ! 

You  wonder  why  the  tears  your  eyes  should  fill ; 
You  whisper  to  your  breaking  heart :  "  Be  still !  " 
But  the  heart  moans  with  yearning  unsufficed — 
Vague  yearning,  which  the  world  can  never  fill. 

For  women  love  but  once ;  and  if  denied 
That  first,  sweet  love,  they  live  unsatisfied, 
Clinging  to  it  as  to  the  cross  of  Christ — 
A  cross  whereon  their  hearts  are  crucified. 

And  this  is  life — the  life  which  we  must  lead  : 
A  life  of  dire  distress  and  sorest  need ; 

A  life  which  longs,  but  vainly  longs,  for  rest — 
Rest  for  the  hands  that  toil — the  hearts  that  bleed. 

Aye  !  this  is  life.     Heaven's  mercy  on  us,  sweet ! 
Be  it  that  you  and  I  no  more  shall  meet 

Until  the  grass  is  green  above  the  breast, 
And  God's  white  daisies  grow  at  head  and  feet ! 


DOWN  ON  THE  OLD  PLANTATION 

In  spite  of  politics  an'  sich 

A-worryin'  of  the  nation, 
We're  doin'  well  in  Georgy  Ian* 

Down  on  the  ol'  plantation. 
We're  fixin'  now  fer  cotton  white — 
To  fleece  the  fiel's  from  left  to  right, 
An'  take  oP  Georgy  out  o'  sight 

Down  on  the  oP  plantation  ! 

Ain't  nothin'  throws  us  out  o'  gear, 

Or  hinders  our  salvation  ; 
We're  good  fer  all  the  wear  an'  tear 

Down  on  the  ol'  plantation. 
We're  workin'  whilst  it's  called  to-day 
To  meet  the  Good  Times  on  the  way, 
An'  life's  a  regular  hooray  ! 

Down  on  the  ol'  plantation. 

Fer  still  the  seasons  as  they  go 

Shout  joy  from  every  station, 
The  joy  o'  reapin'  what  we  sow 

Down  on  the  ol'  plantation. 

4 


DOWN  ON  THE  OLD  PLANTATION 

Joy  in  the  singin'  o'  the  rills — 
The  mockin'  birds,  the  whippoorwills ; 
We've  struck  the  halleluia  hills 
Down  on  the  olj  plantation ! 


THE   WORLD-WAY    OF    THE  SOUTH 

Not  lost  in  a  languor  of  blisses, 

In  valleys  sweet-breathing  of  bloom, 
Though  roses  are  fain  of  her  kisses 

And  stars  braid  her  brows  in  the  gloom  ; 
Though  lilies  lean  to  her  and  love  her, 

And  the  love-song  is  sweet  in  her  mouth, 
And  the  world  green — the  skies  blue  above  her — 

Sing  the  South  !  Sing  the  South  !  Sing  the  South ! 

In  the  strength  of  high  faith  she  hath  risen, 

Her  flag  on  her  mountains  unfurled ; 
She  hath  rent  the  great  hills  that  imprison 

The  glittering  wealth  of  a  world. 
With  the  thrill  of  a  new  life  elated 

The  harvest  its  fruitfulness  yields : 
And  the  ships,  far  sea-faring,  are  freighted 

With  the  fleece  of  her  flowering  fields. 

Hers  all  the  crowned  hills  of  Endeavor, 

The  garlands,  the  triumphs  of  life  j 
Her  voice  is  a  clarion  ever — 

A  battle-song  heard  in  the  strife ; 
6 


THE   WORLD-WAY  OF  THE    SOUTH 

With  Freedom  in  fairest  communion3 
With  Liberty  facing  the  Fates, 

Love-linked  to  the  stars  of  the  Union, 
And  the  flag  rippling  over  the  States. 


CHRISTMAS  TIMES  IN  GEORGIA 

Don't  care  how  the  cotton  sells — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 

Hear  the  ringin'  o'  the  bells — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia  ! 

Take  your  place,  Miss  Nancy-Lou, 

Eyes  like  violets  bright  with  dew ! 

Sugar  is  sweet,  an'  so  are  you — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 

Don't  care  how  the  country  goes — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia  ! 

Loud  an'  sweet  the  bugle  blows — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia  ! 

Take  your  place,  Malinda-Jane, 

Curls  as  bright  as  April  rain, 

Lips  as  sweet  as  sugar-cane — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia  ! 


Don't  care  how  the  fiddle  play 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 

Let  the  roarin'  oak-fires  blaze — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 
8 


CHRISTMAS  TIMES  IN   GEORGIA 

Come  from  east,  and  come  from  west, 
In  your  silks  an'  satins  dressed, 
Kiss  the  one  you  love  the  best — 
Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 

Balance  to  your  partners  all — 

Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 
Lead  the  ladies  round  the  hall— 

Christmas  times  in  Georgia  ! 
Roof  is  ringin' ;  snow  an'  sleet ; 
But  the  music's  in  your  feet ! 
Girls  '11  pay  the  forfeits  sweet — 

Christmas  times  in  Georgia ! 


IN  AN  OLD  INN 

A  jolly  landlord  and  a  blazing  fire; 

Without  the  snow,  the  sleet. 
Let  the  bleak  winter  wreak  his  heart's  desire ! 

Here  the  old  friends  we  meet. 

While  fast  the  shadows  of  the  night  are  falling 

No  comfort  shall  we  lack  ; 
For  is  not  FalstafF  from  a  corner  calling  : 

"  Sirrah,  a  cup  of  sack  ?  " 

It  is  no  time  for  grief — for  melancholy ; 

Great  tales  there  are  to  tell. 
The  "  Sluggish  Knight  "  drinks  with  the  friar  jolly — 

Not  from  Saint  Dunstan's  well. 

Trampling  of  feet — voices  in  hallways  humming  ; 

Here  a  tired  traveller  nods  ; 

A    trumpet   sounds     *      *     *     a  The  coach  —  th< 
coach  is  coming ! — 

O  for  a  coach,  ye  gods !  " 

Care  is  a  river,  but  we've  crossed  the  ferry 

To  where  the  bright  fields  bloom. 
Chaucer  comes  in  with  tales  of  Canterbury ; 

Room  for  the  old  man — room  ! 
10 


IN  AN  OLD   INN 


He  scarce  hath  told  the  tale,  sweet  in  the  telling, 

Ere  a  glad  eye  discerns 
A  gentler  guest.     A  chorus  glad  is  swelling  : 

"  Tore  God,  here's  Bobby  Burns  !  " 

Was  ever  yet  so  wonderful  a  party  ? 

Dash  down,  O  wintry  rain  ! 
Clink  glasses,  O  my  masters-  drink  ye  hearty 

Until  we  meet  again  !  * 


II 


A  SONG  OF   HER  LOVER 

Fm  a-goin'  to  meet  my  lover  at  the  grindin'  of  the 

cane — 

At  the  grindin'  of  the  cane, 
At  the  grindin'  of  the  cane ; 
He's    comin'   on    his    pony    in    a    canter  down    the 

lane — 
He   passes    all    the   purty    girls,    an'  gives   his  pony 

rein; 

Fer  my  lover's  goin'  to  meet  me, 
My  lover's  goin'  to  meet  me 
At  the  grindin' — at  the  grindin'  of  the  cane  ! 

Fm  a-goin'   to  meet  my  lover  at  the  grindin'  of  the 
cane — 

At  the  grindin'  of  the  cane, 

At  the  grindin'  of  the  cane ; 
He  gallops  'crost  the  medders — he  canters  down  the 

lane, 
With  not  a  kiss  fer  Jenny,  nor  a  wavin'  hand  to  Jane ; 

Fer  my  lover's  goin'  to  meet  me, 

My  lover's  goin'  to  meet  me 
At  the  grindin' — at  the  grindin'  of  the  cane  ! 

12 


A   SONG  OF  HER  LOVER 

Who  wouldn't  wait  to  meet  him  as  he  rides — as  he 

rides 

To  the  grindin'  of  the  cane, 
To  the  grindin'  of  the  cane ; 
With  the  foam,  like  snow,  a-fallin*  from  his  frisky 

pony's  sides; 
An*  he'll  be  the  best  of  husbands,  an'  I'll  be  the  best 

of  brides  ; 

Fer  my  lover's  goin'  to  meet  me : 
With  a  kiss  of  love  he'll  greet  me 
At  the  grindin' — at  the  grindin'  of  the  cane ! 


AN  OLD  MAN'S  MUSING 

I 
Ain't  takin'   no  stock  in  the  snow — it  ain't  what   I 

love  an'  admire ; 
I'm  jest  settin'  here  in  a  rickety  chair  an'  smokin'  my 

pipe  by  the  fire. 
The  trees  are  like  skeletons  white  that  shake  in  the 

wind  as  it  blows, 
An'  out  in  the  black  o'  the  night  the  hills  they  look 

ghostly — Lord  knows  ! 

II 

Ain't  takin'  no  stock  in  the  snow ;  but,  somehow  or 

other,  it  seems 
With  its  lonesome-like  whiteness,  to  take  me  fur  back 

to  the  valley  o'  dreams ; 
An'  I'm  thinkin'  o'  friends  that  have  left   me — the 

friends  that  I  loved  long  ago, 
Some  of  'em  fur  an'  divided,  an'  some  lyin'  under  the 

snow. 

Ill 

I'm  thinkin'  of  how,  by  the  fireplace,  the  good  wife 
was  settin'  that  day 

When  the  snowflakes  was  fallin',  an'  rosy  the  chil 
dren  come  in  from  their  play ; 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   MUSING 

When  I  had  not  a  thought  that  I'd  ever  be  settin'  as 

lonesome  as  this, 
Fur  off  from  the  love  o'  the  children  come  in  from 

the  snow  fer  a  kiss ! 

IV 

But    mother   an*  children — where    are    they  ?      The 

mother  went  home  long  ago 
To  the  place  where  the  light  is  eternally  bright,  an' 

there's  never  no  winter  an'  snow. 
An'  the  children — they're  fur  from  the  home  place, 

an'  mostly  fergittin  to  write, 
An'  that's  why  I'm  feelin'  so  lonesome  in  the  snow 

that  is  fallin'  to-night ! 

V 

But  it's  Life,  an  I  ain't  a-complainin',  fer  the  Lord 

sent  me  skies  that  was  fair, 
An'  I'm  thankful  to-night  fer  this  fire's  bright  light 

an'  the  rest  o'  this  rickety  chair ; 
But  I  still  fall  to  thinkin'  an'  sighin', — an'  I  reckon 

'twill  always  be  so, 
Till  Life's  fire  is  a  handful  of  ashes,  an'  I  pass  o'er 

the  hills  of  the  snow. 

15 


A  MORNING  SONG 

I 
Open  wide  the  windows — 

The  green  hills  are  in  sight, 
Winds  are  whispering,  "  Violets  !  " 

And — there's  a  daisy  white, 

And,  the  great  sun  says  "  Good  morning  !  "  and  the 
valleys  sing,  "  Delight !  " 

II 

Open  wide  the  windows — 

Life  will  not  let  us  rest ! 
A  thousand  airy  messengers 

From  rosy  east  to  west 

Are    come    with    sweetest    singing — with    roses   for 
Love's  breast. 

Ill 

No  more  the  white-browed  Winter 

With  stormy,  wild  alarms  ! 
There's  a  poet  listening — listening, 
Where  a  sense  of  music  charms 

Even  the  woman  in  the  doorway  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms. 

16 


A  MORNING  SONG 


IV 

Take  hands  and  meet  the  morning 

On  the  hills — in  valleys  deep  : 
The  Darkness  was  but  dreaming 

Where  we  felt  the  shadows  creep. 
Grief  wakens  on  the  breast  of  Joy  who  sighed  him 
self  to  sleep. 

V 

And  the  green  of  field  and  meadow, 

And  the  enfolding  blue  above, 
The  clear  call  of  the  robin — 

Silver-thrush  and  gray-winged  dove, 
Shall  seem  to  us  a  recompense  for  lost,  remembered 
Love  ! 

VI 

Open  wide  the  windows  ! 

Sweet  smells  the  rain-blest  sod ; 
The  seed  dreams  of  the  harvest 

And  the  color's  in  the  clod ; 

And  the  whole  world  breathes  the  beauty  of  the  Light 
and  Love  of  God  ! 


A    LITTLE   COT 

It's  a  little  cot 

In  a  little  spot, 
With  a  little  heaven  has  sent, 

An'  her  hand  in  mine 

In  rain  or  shine, 
An'  I'm  goin'  my  way  content. 

I'm  goin'  my  way  content, 

With  the  blue  skies  over  me  bent ; 

An'  the  world  is  right,  an'  the  world  is  wrong, 

But  my  heart  keeps  singin'  a  thankful  song. 

It's  a  little  way 

From  that  cot  each  day 
In  the  toilin'  world  I  roam  ; 

But  the  whole  day  long 

That  sweet  heart-song, 
And  a  kiss  when  the  stars  sing  :  "  Home  ! " 

A  kiss  for  a  welcome  home, 
When  the  bees  are  hid  in  the  comb  ; 
An'  the  world  is  right,  an'  the  world  is  wrong, 
But  Love  keeps  singin'  the  same  sweet  song. 
18 


A   LITTLE   COT 


The  same  sweet  song 

Where  the  toilers  throng 
An'  the  skies  are  cold  an'  gray ; 

For  I  hear  the  beat 

Of  her  heart  so  sweet, 
Callin'  me — far  away  ! 

Callin'  me — far  away 

To  the  blooms  an'  the  bells  o'  May ; 

An'  the  world  is  right,  an'  the  world  is  wrong, 

But  her  heart  keeps  singin'  that  same  sweet  song. 

An'  the  little  cot 

In  the  little  spot 
Is  dearer  than  domes  that  rise ; 

For  the  day  is  bright 

An'  the  night  is  light 
With  the  love  in  a  woman's  eyes. 

With  the  love  in  a  woman's  eyes — 

A  love  that  never  dies ; 

An'  the  world  is  right,  an'  the  world  is  wrong, 

But  Love  keeps  singin'  the  same  sweet  song. 


THE  WAY  OLD  GLORY  GOES 

In  sunlight  or  in  stormy  day, 

With  friendliness  or  foes, 
The  country's  going  just  the  way — 

The  way  «  Old  Glory  "  goes. 
To-day — to-morrow — still  she  waves 

Over  earth's  Freedom  or  our  graves  ! 

She  arches  earth — a  rainbow's  ray, 
Or,  when  the  storm-wind  blows, 

A  beacon-blaze,  she  lights  the  way — 
The  way  that  freedom  goes. 

To-day — to-morrow — still  she  waves 
Over  our  glory  or  our  graves. 


20 


WHEN  THE  OLD  MAN  GOT 
RELIGION 

When  the  ol'  man  got  religion   things  sorter  changed 

aroun', 
The  house  wuz  topsy-turvy,   the   worl'  wuz   upside 

down ; 
We  didn't  know  what  hit  us  ;  'peared  like  we'd  started 

wrong ; 
Life  had  to  be  made  over  to  his  halleluia  song ! 

'Twuz  in  the  winter  season  ?     He  lit  in  thisaway  : 
He  pulled  the  kiver  off  us  long  'fore  the  break  o'  day; 
u  Stir  roun'  !   stir  roun'  !"  he'd  holler  all  up  an'  down 

the  stairs — 
"  This  life's  too  short  fer  sleepin' ;  rise  up  fer  family 

prayers  !  " 

We  crawled  out  from  that  kivcr  with   mournful  sighs 

an'  groans, 
The  teeth  of  us  a-chatterin'    like    minstrels    beatin' 

bones ! 
An',  ranged  aroun'  the   fireplace — a  mighty  mournful 

ring — 
He'd  holler  :  "  Hymn  Two  Hundred  :   Let  ever'body 


sing! 


21 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


An'  you  never  heard  such  singin'  sence  life  an'  time 

begun ; 
The  angels  couldn't  stand  it,  an'  stopped   their  ears 

an' run  ! 
Fer  the  music,  comin'  zig-zag  from  them  new  singin' 

ranks, 
Wuz  worse  than  storm-winds  howlin'  roun'  Jordan's 

stormy  banks  ! 

He  kept  the  whole  house  hustlin' :  "  Work  while  it's 

called  To-day  ! 
An'  pray  whilst  you're  a-workin' ;  but  work  an'  work 

away  !  " 

But  ever'  youngster  of  us — with  sad  an'  sollum  face, 
Wuz  prayin'  fer  the    ol'    man    to    fall    away    from 

grace  ! 

Long  years  have  passed  an'  left  us  still  with  our  work 

to  do; 
An'  the  ol'  man,  bein'  weary,  went  Home  an'  left  us, 

too  ; 
Led    by   his   homely   counsel    safe   to   the   shelterin' 

fold- 

Sightin'  the  fur-off  city  with  shinin'  streets  of  gold. 

22 


WHEN  THE  OLD   MAN  GOT  RELIGION 

An'   evermore   we're  praisin'   of  the  Providence   on 

high 
That  the  oP  man  got  religion  in  the  happy  days  gone 

by; 
An*  we  hope  to  hear  him  shoutin',  when  we  reach  the 

heavenly  stairs, 
In  the  bright,  Celestial  mornin', — "  Rise  up  to  fam'ly 

prayers  !  " 


HERE'S  HOPIN' 

Year  ain't  been  the  very  best ; — 
Purty  hard  by  trouble  pressed ; 
But  the  rough  way  leads  to  rest, — 
Here's  hopin' ! 

Maybe  craps  wuz  short ;  the  rills 
Couldn't  turn  the  silent  mills  ; 
But  the  light's  behind  the  hills, — 
Here's  hopin' ! 

Where  we  planted  roses  sweet 
Thorns  come  up  an'  pricked  the  feet ; 
But  this  old  world's  hard  to  beat, — 
Here's  hopin'  ! 

P'r'aps  the  buildin'  that  we  planned 
'Gainst  the  cyclone  couldn't  stand ; 
But,  thank  God  we've  got  the  land^ — 
Here's  hopin' ! 

Maybe  flowers  we  hoped  to  save 
Have  been  scattered  on  a  grave  ; 
But  the  heart's  still  beatin'  brave, — 
Here's  hopin'  ! 

24 


HERE'S    HOPIN' 


That  we'll  see  the  mornin'  light — 
That  the  very  darkest  night 
Can't  hide  heaven  from  our  sight,— 
Here's  hopin' ! 


TWO  PICTURES 

I 

In  the  dewy  morn 

I  wove  the  red  sash  for  my  lover's  sword, 

In  the  sound  of  the  silver  bugles 

Blowing  merrily  over  the  violet  vales. 

My  red  lips  leaned  to  the  steel, 

And  kissed  it  for  a  holy  cause. 

And  then — the  lips  of  my  lover — 

And  over  the  orchards 

The  music  of  a  farewell  song. 

II 

In  the  mist-wreathed  twilight 

I  wove  the  white  shroud  for  my  lover's  sword, 

In  the  sound  of  the  muffled  drums 

Moaning  over  the  darkened  vales. 

My  white  lips  leaned  to  the  steel, 

And  kissed  it,  and  were  crimsoned. 

And  then — the  cold  lips  of  my  lover, 

And  over  the  orchards 

The  long,  desolate  Night  ! 


26 


WHEN  THE  FALL  TIME  COMES 

There's  somethin'  like  a  jingle  an'  a  tingle  in  the  air, 
Fer  the  honey's  jest  a-drippin'  from  the  hives ; 

The  fields  are  lookin'  frosty  with  the  white  that  blos 
soms  there, 
An'  the  corn  crap's  jest  the  biggest  of  our  lives ! 

Summer's  a-goin' — 

Needn't  beat  the  drums ; 
We're  bound  to  have  a  showin* 

When  the  fall  time  comes ! 

There's  somethin'   like  a  jingle   an'  a  tingle  every 
where, 

An'  the  blue  smoke  has  a  meanin'  as  it  curls  ; 
They're  tunin'  of  the   fiddle,  an'  there's  music  in  the 

air, 
An*  we'll  soon  be  swinging  corners  with  the  girls  ! 

Summer's  a-goin' — 

Needn't  beat  the  drums  ; 
We're  bound  to  have  a  showin* 

When  the  fall  time  comes ! 


THE  MERRY  ROUND 

Sich  a  round  o'  pleasure — goin'  left  an'  right, 
Daytime  is  a  picnic — dancin'  ever'  night ! 
Never  wuz  so  happy — valley,  plain,  or  hill, 
Forty  dozen  weddin's,  and  the  women  willin'  still ! 

Growled  about  the  weather  when  the  summer  sun 
Wilted  all  the  cornblades — made  the  toilers  run  ! 
But  look  at  what  it  brought   us  !  harvests   broad  an* 

high, 
An'  halleluias  goin'  in  music  to  the  sky. 

Sich  a  round  o'  pleasure  ! — when  the  riddles  play 
Wouldn't  swap  the  winter  fer  the  bloom  o'  May ! 
Backlog  in  the  chimney — red  sparks  on  the  fly ; 
Cane-juice  never  sweeter,  an'  bright  bead  on  the  rye  ! 

Ain't  this  world  a  great  one  ?  Joy  jest  layin'  round, 
Twinklin'  in  the  frost-flakes  kiverin'  all  the  ground ; 
Never  wuz  so  happy — valley,  plain,  or  hill, 
Forty  dozen  weddin's,  an  the  women  willin'  still ! 


28 


IN  WIND  AND    RAIN 

I 

Tired  out !     .     .     .    and  the  wind  and  rain — 
Dash  of  the  sleet  at  the  window  pane, 
And  ever  a  flurry 

Of  snow  as  white 
As  a  soul  should  be 

In  God's  own  sight     .     .     . 
And  I  would  that  she  were  here  to-night ! 

II 

What  harm  if  she,  in  the  mystery 
And  moan  of  the  darkness  should  come  to  me  ? 
Should  come  as  the  bloom 

From  the  blast  and  blight — 
The  rose's  red, 

And  the  rose's  white, — 
Should  come  as  a  flower  to  my  breast  to-night  ? 

Ill 

Have  I  only  won  from  Life's  storm  and  stress 
Starless  Night  and  Loneliness  ? 
29 


UP  FROM  GEORGIA 


Have  I  trampled  the  Wrong 

And  lifted  the  Right, 
To  see  the  dreams 

Of  my  soul  take  flight — 
To  long  for  a  little  of  Love  to-night  ? 

IV 

If  she  should  come  as  the  storm  breaks  wide, 
Would  the  mad  world  strike  her  from  my  side  ? 
Love  claims  his  own 

Of  right  and  might, 
From  the  depths  of  hell 

To  a  heaven's  height !    .    .    . 
And  he  only  asks  for  his  own  to-night ! 


I  am  weary  of  dreams    ...    to  wake  and  miss 
The  lips  God  made  for  a  lover's  kiss ! 
To  know  that  life 

Is  fast  in  flight — 
That  hell  is  Darkness, 

And  heaven  Light, 
And  all  that  I  ask  is  Love  to-night ! 

30 


IN  WIND  AND  RAIN 


VI 

Tired  out !     ...    m  the  Night's  despair, 
And  Love  shut  out  in  the  Darkness  there ! 
And  hell  so  deep, 

And  heaven  so  high, 
And  the  curse  of  sleep 

Where  a  dream's  a  sigh  ! — 
The  dream  of  a  Love  that  will  not  die ! 

VII 

Tired  out !     .    .     .     and  the  wind  and  rain, 
And  the  wistful  eyes  at  the  window-pane. 
Come  in,  O  Love  ! — 

The  hearth's  a-light, 
And  your  soul  is  white 

As  the  snow  is  white ! 
Come  in  from  the  world  to  your  own  to-night ! 


RETURN,  SWEET   DAY 
I 

Return,  O  Day,  from  out  the  vanished  years 
Where  now  no  fires  on  ruined  altars  burn  ; 

I  give  you  all  Love's  tenderness  and  tears  : 
Return,  sweet  Day,  return  ! 

II 

The  same  sweet  stars  are  in  the  heavens  of  blue, 
The  same  sad  lessons  Life  hath  still  to  learn. 

I  am  aweary  for  the  love  of  you  : 
Kind  Day,  return — return  ! 

Ill 

So  brief  the  time — so  rain-dark  with  Love's  tears — 
So  vainly  for  one  gleam  of  grace  I  yearn, 

With  but  one  cry  in  all  the  dying  years, 
"  Return,  sweet  Day,  return  ! " 


LIFE'S  WAYSIDE  INN 

I 

Let  us  rest  us  from  the  strife 
At  this  wayside  Inn  of  Life  ; 
No  remembrances  of  years — 
Sorrows,  or  the  fall  of  tears. 
Let  us  rest  us  from  the  throng 
Where  the  Silence  is  a  song. 

II 

Let  us  rest  :  The  twilight  falls 
Soft  on  echoless,  dim  halls, 
Where  life's  withering  blooms  are  shed- 
Life  of  quiet  comforted. 
Stormy  was  the  way,  and  long, 
But  God's  Silence  is  a  song. 

Ill 

What  were  worldly  hopes  and  fears? 
What  were  kisses — what  were  tears  ? 
What  the  heart's  cry  in  the  stress 
Of  its  unloved  loneliness  ? 
After  all  the  wrath  and  wrong 
Comes  God's  Silence  like  a  song. 

33 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


IV 

Rest,  O  Heart  !   from  storm  and  strife 
At  this  wayside  Inn  of  Life  ! 
We  shall  fold  above  the  breast 
Hands  that  need  God's  gift  of  Rest. 
Comes  the  Night  :  the  Night  is  long, 
But  God's  Silence  is  a  song! 


34 


EVENING  SONG 

I 

The  shadows  deepen  in  the  western  sky, 

The  birds  take  homeward  flight ; 
And  one  must  weep  to  see  the  daylight  die  ; 
For  Love  is  not ;  and  Memory  is  a  sigh : 

Goodnight !     Goodnight ! 

II 

Did  any  deed  unkind,  dear,  thrill  your  breast — 

A  shadow  in  the  light  ? 

A  look — a  tone,  that  brought  a  dream  unblest  ? 
Breathe  sweet  forgiveness  ere  sleep  whispers,  "  Rest :  " 

Goodnight !   Goodnight ! 

Ill 

One  star  alone  in  the  still  heaven  appears — 

A  bloom  where  all  seems  blight ; 
I  come  to  you,  with  trembling  hopes  and  fears — 
I  hold  your  hand — I  kiss  away  your  tears : 

Goodnight !    Goodnight  ! 


35 


ALONG  LIFE'S  WAY 

I 

I  only  ask  the  strength — the  grace 
To  take  life's  crosses  as  they  come 

I  may  not  always  see  God's  face; 
In  darkness  I  am  dumb. 

Why  should  I  murmur  at  the  way  ? 

Life  must  have  winter,  even  as  May. 

II 

I  count  my  gain,  and  not  my  loss, 
And  still  my  soul  is  comforted 

Though  every  path  leads  to  a  cross 
Whose  shadows  hide  Love's  dead. 

Out  of  the  blackness  of  the  night 

God  weaves  a  laurel  for  the  light. 

Ill 

And  still  far  off  the  light  appears, 
And  still  sweet  benedictions  fall ; 

The  tears  we  shed  are  April  tears — 
Sunlight  is  in  them  all ! 

Sorrow  endureth — not  for  long  : — 

Joy  cometh  with  the  morning  song ! 


THE  DREAM 

So,  little  heart,  Love's  summer  sweets  are  dead — 

The  glory  and  the  gleam. 
Face  the  world  bravely ;  let  no  tear  be  shed. 

It  was  a  dream — a  dream  ! 

Were  there  not  whispers  in  the  song-thrilled  air — 

A  shadow  in  the  beam  ? 
And  did  you  think  a  flower  could  live  so  fair  ? 

Heart,  'twas  a  dream — a  dream  ! 

We  are  all  dreamers  from  the  mother's  breast 

Through  years  of  peace  or  pain. 
Weep  not  past  dreams ;  forget  them  !  it  is  best. 

Dear,  you  shall  dream  again  ! 

The  world  is  beckoning  with  its  bright  lights — see  ! 

Green  fields  and  rippled  waves. 
The  lilies  for  the  living  !     There  will  be 

Flowers  enough  for  graves. 

Lay  by  each  token — touched,  perhaps,  with  tears — 

From  the  new  life  apart. 
The  wan  and  withered  violets  of  sweet  years, 

That  dreamed  above  your  heart. 

37 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


Playthings  of  Fate,  that  Fate  would  cast  aside  : 

Say  in  new  strength  and  trust ; 
u  Sweet  were  the  violets — but  the  violets  died  ; 

Dust  unto  rosy  dust  ! " 

Dear  little  heart !   the  mourning  will  be  brief; 

Lo  !  a  bright  dawn  appears. 
This  world  of  joy  is  all  too  sweet  for  grief — 

Too  sunny-bright  for  tears. 

Take  up  the  task ;  there  will  be  strength  for  all  ;- 
Stars  through  the  storm  will  stream. 

Leave  the  past  tearless  where  the  dead  leaves  fall 
It  was  a  dream — a  dream  ! 


THE  VOLUNTEER 

The  band  was  playin'  "  Dixie "  when  he  marched, 
marched  away ; 

An'  never  any  likelier  lad  stepped  time  to  it  that  day; 

"  The  finest  fellow  of  'em  all !  "  I  heard  the  town- 
folk  say. 

The  band  was  playin'  "  Dixie "  as  he  marched — 
marched  away. 

How  fast  my  wild  arms  held  him — my  boy,  who 

would  not  stay — 
The  likeliest  lad  that  answered  to  the  captain's  call 

that  day  ! 

"  The  finest  fellow  of  'em  all ! "  An'  in  the  red  array 
Of  flags  that  rippled  over  them  they  marched  my  lad 

away  ! 

But  a  mother's  fears,  and  prayers,  and  tears  are  noth 
ing.  War  must  slay, 

And  the  draped,  deep  drums  were  muffled  as  they 
brought  him  home  that  day  : 

"  The  finest  fellow  of  'em  all !  "  I  heard  the  town- 
folk  say. 

And  his  mother  bendin'  over  him — dead  at  her  feet 
that  day  ! 

39 


"HOLD  ON  AWHILE" 

When  trouble  an'  trial  wuz  round  us 
The  ol'  man  would  say,  with  a  smile, 

"  Worl'  wuzn't  made  in  a  minute — 
Hold  on  awhile  !  " 

Nothin'  could  ever  upset  him — 
Nuthin'  his  patience  could  rile  : 

tc  Wait  jest  a  minute  !    Ain't  nuthin'  much  in  it- 
Hold  on  awhile  !  " 

An'  when  at  the  last  he  wuz  goin', 
He  said,  with  a  farewell,  sweet  smile, 

u  I'll  wait  fer  you,  boys,  in  that  heaven  oj  joys, 
But — hold  on  a  while  !  " 


40 


THE   FALL  OF   FROST 

The  fall  o'  the  frost  on  the  meadows !  An'  ain't  it  a 
blessin'  to  you  ? 

How  crisp  is  the  air  in  the  woodlands  !  An'  bare 
footed  boys  in  the  dew 

Are  singin'  an'  springin'  an'  swingin'  their  hats  where 
the  summer  is  lost : 

We  are  just  on  the  threshold  of  winter — for  here  is 
his  herald — the  frost ! 

The  fall  o'  the  frost  on  the  meadows !  I  tell  you,  the 

apples  are  red, 
An'  the  cane-juice  is  sweet  in  the  drippin'  from  the 

little  mill  under  the  shed  ! 
The  fields  that  were  fleecy  with  cotton  are  now  lookin' 

lonesome  an'  lost ; 
But  the  meadows — the  meadows  are   merry,  for  the 

hilltops  are  white  with  the  frost ! 

The  fall  o'  the  frost  on  the  harvest,  an'  isn't  it  spicy 

an'  sweet  ? 
Tune  the  old  fiddle,  an'  follow  its  notes  with  the  fall 

o'  your  feet ! 
Come  in,  Miss  Mary  !     Your  partner  has  sorter  been 

thinkin'  you're  lost ! 
An'  we'll  dance  to  the  merriest  music  a  welcomin' 

reel  to  the  frost ! 

41 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  BONNET 

I'd  made  up  my  mind  fer  sartin  that  Jenny  (you  know 

that  she 
Had  named  the  day  in  her  own  sweet  way — the  day 

she  would  marry  me  ?) 
Should  have  the  purtiest  bonnet  that  ever  the  store 

folks  made — 
One  that  would  throw  a  rainbow  just  twenty  mile  in 

the  shade  ! 

Ever  seen  Jenny  smilin'  ?  Ever  took  note  of  her  eyes  ? 
I  toP  her  a  angel  made  'em  from  little  blue  patches  o* 

skies  ! 
Jest  'peared  to  twinkle  sunshine !  an'  whenever  they 

look  at  me 
I  see  jest  all  o'  heaven  that  ever  I  hope  to  see  ! 

Well,  I  went  down  thar  to  the  city,  an'  I  toP  the 

store  folks  plain, 
I  wanted  the  finest  bonnet  that  ever  come  in  on  the 

train ; 
An'   I  paid  my  money  fer  it  'thout  any   contendin* 

words  : 
It  wuz  all  fixed  up  with  roses,  an'  ribbons,  an'  singin* 

birds. 

42 


THE   STORY  OF  THE   BONNET 

But  now  the  trouble's   a-comin'  ! — she  wuz    all    in 

deep  distress ; 
How  wuz  a  ten-dollar  bonnet  to  go  with  a  caliker 

dress  ? 
Mother — she  kinder  shook  her  head ;  said  'twould  be 

"  out  o'  place," 
An'  Jenny,  with  tears  a-fallin'  on  the  roses  of  her  face ! 

But  her  gran'ma  come  ter  the  rescue :     u  It's  been 

seventy  year,"  says  she, 
"  Sence  I  wore  my  weddin'  dress,  an'  now  it's  good 

as  it  use  to  be  : 
I've  been  a-keepin'  it  stored  away — but  it  saddens  me 

now  an'  then ; 
An'  seein'   tomorrer's   the  Easter  day,  we'll  make  it 

over  fer  Jen  !  " 

Jen  throwed  her  arms  around  her  'till  we  heard  the 

gran'ma  say  : 
"  Ever  you  see  sich  a  silly  gal  ?  She'll  smother  me 

thataway  ! 
Go  'long  an'  git  yer  scissors,  an'  all  o*  yer  needles 

bright ; 
With  a  hat  like  that  a  weddin'  dress  is  jest  what'll  set 

you  right  1 " 

43 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


An*  it  did  !  An'  seein'  she  looked  so   sweet  when  the 

Easter  day  come  'roun', 
When  meetin'  wuz  over,  the  license  an'  the  parson 

wuz  easy  foun' ! 

An'  I  ain't  a-lovin'  Jenny  any  the  more,  or  less, 
Kaze  I  married  her  Easter  mornin'  in  gran'mother's 

weddin'  dress  ! 


44 


THE   PRAYER  FOR   RAIN 

They've  been  a-preachin'  it,  people,  that  faith  is  a 

thing  played  out, 
That  the  angels  never  hear  us  when  we  sing  to  the 

skies,  an'  shout ; 
That  if  the  world  is  beamin',  it's  Man  that  makes  it 

bright — 
That  God's  voice  ain't  in  the  thunder,  an'  His  smile 

ain't  in  the  light. 

They've  been  a-preachin'  it,  people,  from  the  hilltops 

fur  an'  nigh ; 
That  the  rainbow's  only  a  ribbon  roun'    the    black 

dress  o'  the  sky  ; 
That  there  ain't  no  promise  in  it,  like  the  Good  Book 

said  of  old — 
"It's  only  a  dream,"  they  tell  us,  with  its  purple  an' 

its  gold. 

They've  been  a-preachin'  it,  people,  an*  I've  hearn 

'em  'long  the  way ; 
But  I  thank  the  Lord  above  us  there's  faith  in  the 

world  to-day ! 

45 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


Faith  in  the  true  and  steadfast — in  the  hearts  that  still 

believe 
The  great  an'  glorious  promise  : — "  Ask,  and  ye  shall 

receive  !  " 


Listen  ! — The  flowers  were  wiltin'  in  the  gardens  o' 

the  May; 
An'  June  saw   the  lilies  droopin'  in  the  face  o'  the 

rainless  day ; 
An'  we  said  :  "  The  craps  still  thirstin'  by  the  valley 

an*  the  plain; 
The  clouds  of  God  above  us,  an'  never  a  drap  o'  rain! " 

An'  we  sat  in   the   gloom  an'  grumbled,  an'  scowled 

at  the  skies  above, 
Till  it  come  to  our  minds  the  rain-clouds  were  ruled 

by  a  God  of  Love  ; 
An*  that  comfortin'  word  o'   Scripture — to  all  o'  the 

hearts  that  grieve, 
Come  to  us  then — sweet-sayin'  :   "  Ask,  an'  ye  shall 

receive  !  " 

An'  the  brotherin  called  a  meetin'  in  the  old  church 

in  the  pines — 
Blest  by  the  summer  blossoms,  kissed  of  the  climbln* 

vines  5 

46 


THE  PRAYER  FOR  RAIN 

An'  the  preacher  rose  an'  told  us  :  u  The  Word  o* 

the  Lord  is  plain  : 
Let  us  kneel  in  the  Light  of  His  Presence  an'  pray 

to  the  Lord  for  rain  !  " 

The  sky  wuz  jest  like  a  oven — blazin'  all  roun'  with 

heat, 
But  Faith  saw  the  raindrops  fallin'  in  coolin'  showers 

an'  sweet ; 
An',  "  Lord,  send   the  rain,"  cried  the  preacher,  "  to 

the  hill,  an'  the  field,  an'  glen  !  " 
An'  the  very  gates  of  heaven  were  shook  by  a  loud 

«  Amen  ! " 

An'  even  as  we  prayed — no  wonder ! — bowed  in  His 

presence  there, 
We  heard  God's  voice  in  the  thunder — the  God  that 

answers  prayer  ! 
We  saw  the  flash  o'  the  lightnin'  on  the  field  and  the 

hillside,  plain  ! 
And  we  shouted :  "  Halleluia !    Thank   God  for  the 

rain  ! — the  rain  !  " 

Oh,  it  fell  like  a  benediction,  on  the  dry  an*  sunburnt  sod ; 
Till  the  hills  seemed  clappin'  their  hands  for  joy,  an' 
the  glad  fields  said,  "  Thank  God !  " 
47 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


An'  over  its  gracious    Tallin'   rose  the   shout  o'  the 

people  then, 
With    "  Halleluia     to     heaven ! "    an'    the    chorus : 

«  Amen  !  Amen  !  " 

Brotherin,  the  Bible's  with  us  ! — the  promise  is   true 

today : 
When  you're   needin'  the  rain   or    the  sunshine,  git 

down  on  your  knees  an'  pray  ! 
Thanks  be  to  God  for  His  blessin's,  for  He's  with  us 

now  as  then  : 
Jest  shout  "  Halleluia !  "  to  heaven,  an'  the  angels 

will  say  "  Amen  !  " 


THE  LATER  REST 

I 
He  toiled,  forever  faithful,  in  the  ways  where  Duty 

led, 
When  earth  seemed  like  a  desert,  and  dark  clouds 

overhead ; 
And,  "  Ain't   you   feelin'    weary  ! "      .     .      .     But 

still  his  word  would  be  : 
"  On  the  other  side  of  Jordan  there'll  be  rest  forme !  " 

II 

The  black  storms   beat   above  him :    He  saw,  with 

saddened  heart, 

The  laborers  in  the  vineyard,  one  after  one,  depart ; 
"  Oh,  rest  you  from  the  toiling  !  There  is  no  light  to 

see!"     .     .     . 
"  On  the  other  side  of  Jordan  there'll  be  light  for  me." 

Ill 

"  Rest,  from  the  toil   and   trouble,   tired    hands  and 

drooping  head ; 
You  do  but  gather  roses  for  graves  that  hide  your 

dead  ! " 

But  evermore  that  answer,  clear-ringing,  far  and  free  : 
u  On  the  other  side  of  Jordan  there'll  be  rest  for  me !  " 

49 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


IV 

And  so  he  toiled,  and  toiling,  gave  earth  a  lesson  sweet 
As  the  Love  of  God  that  showered  Love's  lilies  at  his 

feet; 
No  earthly  light  could  lure  him — no  dark  his  faith 

could  dim  :  — 
On  the  other  side  of  Jordan  there  was  light  for  him  ! 


AT  ROLL  CALL 

They  answer  up  so  smartly  to  the  callin'  o'  the  roll 

The  night  before  the  battle — 
Ere  the  cannons  roar  and  rattle, — 
To  the  callin' — to  the  callin'  o'  the  roll. 

«  All  here  !  " 

Faces  dear, 

To  women  weeping  near — 

Whose  cheeks  have  lost  the  rose-tints,  whose  lips  are 
white  with  fear, — 

"  All  here — 

All  here  ! " 

They  answer  up  so  faintly  to  the  callin'  o'  the  roll 

After  the  clashing  battle — 

When  the  guns  have  ceased  to  rattle, — 
To  the  callin' — to  the  callin'  o'  the  roll. 

"  Missing  there  !  " 

Faces  dear 

To  the  women  weeping  near — 

Heart  broken,  and  with  pallid  lips  too  tremulous  for 
prayer,— 

"  Missing  there — 

Missing  there ! " 

51 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  GRENADIERS 

The  tears  from  their  eyes  were  falling — from    eyes 

that,  unafraid, 
Had  met  the  swords  that  glittered  at  the  breasts  of  the 

Old  Brigade  :— 
No  wonder  they  heard  the   thunder  that   is  echoing 

down  the  years, 
And  the  man  that  sang  of  the  battle  was  the  last  of 

the  grenadiers  ! 

The  last  of  the  men  that  listened — where  blood  like  a 
river  ran, 

And  the  guns  of  a  leagued  world  glistened — to  the 
call  of  the  Corsican  ! 

That  call  that  is  ringing — ringing  over  the  wreck  of 
years. 

(Ah  !  he  was  singing — singing — the  last  of  the  grena 
diers  !) 

He  sang  that  day  to  the  Old  Brigade  :     "  I  was  there, 

in  the  crimson  fray, 
And  I  saw  the  Little  Corporal  in  the  Emperor's  coat 

of  gray  ! 

52 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    GRENADIERS 

The  man  of  the  Bridge  of  Lodi,  who  rallied   and   led 

the  men. 
'Twas  a  deadlier  dew  at  Waterloo,  but  we  fought  with 

the  General  then  ! 

"  He  cried  :     '  'Tis  the  guns  of  Grouchy  !     Courage  ! 

he  comes — he  comes  ! ' 
And  the  flags   of  the   Old   Guard  fluttered,  and  they 

rushed  to  the  rolling  drums  ! 
They  rushed  to  the   ridge,  revengeful — on  the  tigers 

crouched  for  prey— 
And  they  fought  as  never  a  man  had  fought,  for  the 

Emperor's  sake  that  day  ! 

"  They  fought  and  died  !  and  side  by  side 

they  filled  the  gulf  of  death, 

Yet  still  cried  :  '  Vive  1'Empereur  !  '  with  even  their 
dying  breath  ! 

They  fought  and  died — with  death  defied  those  bayo 
nets  dripping  red 

And  gave  to  France  the  glory  of  the  brave,  heroic 
dead  ! 


53 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


"  I  saw  him  in  the  darkness — after  the  fight  was  o'er: 
I  saw  him  in  the  darkness,  whom  I  shall  see  no  more ! 
And  the  darkness  closed  around  him,  but  as  his  form 

grew  dim, 
I   felt,  where  I  lay   bleeding,  proud    that    I   bled  for 

him  !  " 


The  tears  from  their  eyes  were  falling — from  eyes  that 

were  unafraid ; 
That  had  met  the  swords   that  glittered  at  the  breasts 

of  the  Old  Brigade  : — 
No  wonder  !  They  heard  the  thunder  that  is  echoing 

down  the  years, 
And  the  man  that   sang  of  the   battle  was  the  last  of 

the  Grenadiers  ! 


•54 


HE  DANCES  LIFE  AWAY 

Does  he  ask  how  corn  is  sellin',  or  if  cotton's  up  or 

down  ? 
Is  he  bothered  'bout  the  country,  or  the  stocks  that 

make  the  town  ? 
Is  he   worried  'bout  the  winter,  is  he  sighin'  fer  the 

May? 
No  !     A  feller   picks  the  banjer,  an'  he  dances  life 

away 

Does  he  shrink  from  all  the  toilin'  in  the  white  blaze 

o*  the  sun, 
In  the  hot  sand  o'  the  furrow  where  the  larks  before 

him  run  ? 
No !     You  never  find  him  tired ;  when  the  sun  has 

left  the  day 
A  feller  picks  the  banjer  an'  he  dances  life  away  ! 

No  problem  of  the  races  in  the  hovel  or  the  dome ; 
He  knows  his  face  is  blacker  than  the  chimney-back 

at  home, 
But  ever  more  it's  smilin',  an*  he's  happy  night  an* 

day, 

For  a  feller  picks  the  banjer,  an*  he  dances  life  away ! 
55 


DEAR  LITTLE   FELLOW 

I 

Dear  little  fellow,  don't  forget — 

Leaving  you  now,  that  I  love  you  yet ! 

Just  as  I  did  in  a  far,  fair  day 

When  your  eyes  were  light,  and  your  smile  was  May, 

In  the  beautiful — beautiful  far-away  ! 

Dear  little  fellow,  don't  forget — 

Leaving  you  now,  that  I  love  you  yet ! 

II 

Dear  little  fellow,  don't  forget — 
Leaving  you  now,  that  my  eyes  are  wet 
With  tears  for  the  years  that  may  come  to  you 
When  the  shadows  darken  your  eyes  of  blue, 
And  the  dreams  are  false  where  the  dreams   seemed 

true  ! 

In  the  desolate  darkness  don't  forget — 
Leaving  you  now,  that  I  love  you  yet ! 

Ill 

Dear  little  fellow !     Life  is  but  this  : 

A  glad  Good-morning — a  Good-night  kiss— 

A  hope,  a  fear,  and  a  falling  tear — 

56 


DEAR  LITTLE   FELLOW 

A  cross  to  clasp  and  a  cross  to  bear, 
And  laurels  and  thorns  for  the  brows  to  wear ! 
But  dear  little  fellow,  don't  forget — 
Leaving  you  now,  that  I  love  you  yet  ! 


57 


IN  THE  BRANCH 

I  sit  here  dreamin',  dreamm'  of  the  dear  oP  country 

ranch, 
An1  a  barefoot  boy  a-wadin'  in  the  cool  an1  shaded 

branch ; 
u  Splash,  splash  !  "  I  hear  the  water,  an'  every  ripple 

seems 

To  make  a  rill  o'  music  that's  runnin'  through  my 
dreams  ! 

"  Splash,  splash  !  "  the  water  goes ; 
Downward  to  the  mill  it  flows ; 
What  cares  he  for  thorn  or  rose  ? 
Water's  cool — that's  all  he  knows  ! 
I  sit  here  dreamin',  dreamin'  of  the  sweeter  light  that 

shines 
On  the  wild  blackberry  blossoms  an'  the  honeysuckle 

vines ; 
And  "  Splash  !  "  I  hear  the  water  that  in  the  sunshine 

gleams, 

An'  a  rill  o*  music  runnin'  through  the  shadows  o* 
my  dreams  ! 

"  Splash,  splash  ? "  the  water  goes ; 
Downward  to  the  mill  it  flows ; 
Cares  the  boy  for  thorn  or  rose  ? 
Water's  cool — that's  all  he  knows  ! 

58 


IN   THE   BRANCH 


I  sit  here  dreamin',  dreamin'  till  I  seem  to  slip  away, 
Where  the  water  loved  to  ripple  past  meadows  sweet 

with  hay; 
Where  dusky  doves  are  wingin'  in  mornin's  earliest 

beams 

An'   the   barefoot  boy   is   singin' — is   singin'   in    my 
dreams  ! 

u  Splash,  splash  !  "  the  water  goes ; 
Downward  to  the  mill  it  flows ; 
What  cares  he  for  thorn  or  rose  ? 
Water's  cool — that's  all  he  knows  ! 


59 


HIS   BEST 
I 

"  Fellers,  I  have  done  my  best ! " 
So  he  said,  and  went  to  rest 
Like  a  child  that,  tired  of  play, 
At  the  closing  of  the  day, 
Lays  him  on  his  mother's  breast. 

II 

"  Fellers,  I  have  done  my  best !  " 

Hands  where  Death's  cold  lips  were  pressed 

Folded  were,  as  if  in  prayer, 

In  the  after-silence  there — 

Folded  gently  o'er  his  breast. 

Ill 

All,  in  those  last  words  expressed ! — 

All  of  pain,  of  grief  unguessed  ! 

Who  than  this  can  better  say 

At  the  closing  of  life's  day — 

"  Fellers,  1  have  done  my  best  !  " 


60 


TEN  ACRES  AND  MARY 

I'm  up  an'  away 

At  break  o'  day, 
An'  never  of  work  Fm  weary ; 

For  I  sing  this  song 

As  I  toil  along — 
"  Fve  got  ten  acres  an'  Mary !  " 

Troubles  enough — 

For  the  worl'  is  rough, 
An'  things  will  go  contrary ; 

But  ever  this  song 

As  I  trudge  along— 
"  I've  got  ten  acres  an'  Mary  !  " 

No  angel  bright, 

With  wings  of  light ; 
Of  a  angel  I'd  grow  weary  ; 

But  a  woman  true, 

That's  a  joy  to  you — 
"  Fve  got  ten  acres  an'  Mary ! " 


61 


IN  HALLELUIA  TOWN 

The    namin'   o'   the    settlement    wuz   hard    to  bring 

about ; 
Each  feller  made  suggestions,  an'  still    we    wuz    in 

doubt ; 
So,  we   helt  a  big   town   meetin',  an' — 'peared   like 

providence — 
We  named  her  u  Halleluia,"  an'  we've  all  been  happy 

sence  ! 

They   ain't    no  growlers    in    it — on    ever    plain   an* 

slope 
The  sun  is  shinin'  brightly — the  stars  air  whisperin' 

hope  ; 
An'  all    the    folks  '11    tell    you,  for   miles  an'  miles 

aroun', 
There  ain't  no   thorns  along  the  road   to   Halleluia 

Town  ! 

'Twuz  inspiration  in  it — that  Halleluia  name  ! 
It  brung  about  good  feelin',  it  sot  our  souls  aflame  ! 
An*  what  to  us  air  mansions  in  cities  of  renown, 
So  long  as  we  air  happy  in  Halleluia  Town  ! 

62 


IN   HALLELUIA   TOWN 

For  there  the  birds  air  singin',  the  fields  air  flowerin' 

fine ; 
The  sun  jest  don't  know  nothin'  but  how  to  rise  an' 

shine  ! 
An'  what  a  blessed  world  'twould  be — without  a  care 

or  frown, 
If  folks  would  only  emigrate  to  Halleluia  Town  ! 


A  SONG  IN  APRIL 

I 

Here's  to  fickle  love  or  true — 
Hands  that  clasp  to  sever  : 

Mistress  Nell,  a  health  to  you — 
Joy  be  yours  forever ! 

April  winds  are  out  to-day, 

Blowing  blossoms  sweet  your  way. 

II 
Here's  to  fickle  love  or  true, 

And  a  glad  thanksgiving 
For  that  sky's  unshadowed  blue 

And  the  joy  of  living  ! 
For  that  kinder  love  and  sweet 
In  the  violets  at  your  feet. 

Ill 

Love  will  come,  and  love  will  go 
Like  the  light  on  clover  : 

It  is  but  a  dream,  you  know : — 
Dreams  so  soon  are  over  ! 

But  for  roses  or  for  rue. 

Mistress  Nell,  a  health  to  you  ! 


IN  FIELDS  OF   BLOOM 

I  reckon  I'm  kin  to  the  lilies  :  I  toil  not,  an'  never 
spin; 

I  only  answer  to  roll-call  when  the  winds  from  the 
west  blow  in 

Over  the  dew-drenched  medders — over  the  song- 
sweet  rills, 

An'  the  sun  with  a  glad  "  Good-mornin'  ' '  reads  the 
dreams  o'  the  drowsy  hills. 

What   do   I   want   to  toil   fer,  when  the  golden  bee 

contrives 
To    feed    a    feller    on   honey  stored  in  the   drippin' 

hives ; 
When  I  see  the  color  creepin'  to  the  peach's  rosy 

roun' 
An'  the  red-ripe  apples  are  fallin'  an'  dentin'  the  wet, 

sweet  groun'  ? 

Never  was  made  fer  a  worker  ;  how  kin  I  stack  the 

hay 
Or  follow  the  furrow  when  all  the  birds  are  singin' 

my  soul  away  ? 

Singin'  my  soul  away  to  the  medder-grasses  sweet ; 
With    the    green   o'  the    boughs    above   me  an'   the 

violets  at  my  feet  ? 

65 


UP   FROM    GEORGIA 


Reckon  I'm  kin  to  the  lilies — that's  what  the  workers 

say; 
Brother-in-law  to  the  medder  dressed  fer  the  marriage 

with  May; 
But  I  allus  answer  to  roll-call — though  I  toil  not,  an' 

never  spin  ; 
The  roll-call  o'  the  roses  when  the  winds  from  the 

west  blow  in  ! 


66 


THE  MORNING 

I 

The  good  time  that's  coming  is  not  far  away ; 
The  weariest  Winter  is  dreaming  of  May ; 
Out  o'  the  darkness  the  light  o'  day— 

The  morning  !  the  morning  !  the  morning  ! 

II 

What  of  the  sorrows  of  all  the  dark  years — 
What  of  the  lost  hopes,  and  what  of  the  fears  ? 
After  the  grief  and  the  rain  o'  the  tears — 
The  morning  !  the  morning !   the  morning  ! 

Ill 

Fast  part  the  storm-clouds,  unveiling  the  bright ; 
The  ships  hear  the  home-bells — the  harbor's  in  sight 
And  we  dream,  and  we  drift  evermore  to  the  light — 
The  morning  !   the  morning  !  the  morning  ! 


WHEN  JENNY   CAME  ALONG 

Fishin'  in  the  river,  an'  Jenny  come  along, 
Apern  full  o'  flowers,  an'  singin'  of  a  song; 
"  Shame  to  ketch  them  fishes — cruel  'tis  an'  wrong  !  " 
That  wuz    what    she    tol'   me — when    Jenny    come 
along. 

Fishin'  pole  wuz  noddin' — fish  a-pullin'  strong; 
Never  had  sich  luck  as  that,  when  Jenny  come  along ; 
Knowed  she  wuz  a-comin',  by  the  blossoms  roun'  the 

place ; 
Water,  like  a  lookin'  glass,  showin'  of  her  face. 

Wound  up  that  'ere  tackle — let  the  fishin'  go  : 
Walked  with  her  through  meadows,  with  daisies  white 

as  snow ; 
Wind  a-blowin'  in  my   face  the  bright  locks  round 

her  brow  : — 
Never  did  like  fishin'  in  a  river,  anyhow  ! 


68 


IN   CAMPMEETIN'   TIME 

Gittin'  to'rds  campmeetin'-time — fixin'  up  the  tent, 
An'  groomin'  all  the  oxen  in  the  Billville  settlement ; 
We  that  ain't  up  on  singin'  air  a-projickin'  about, 
An'  some  air  tryin'  of  their  lungs  to  shout  the  loudest 
shout ! 

Some  don't  believe  in  shoutin',  but  to  me  it's  cl'ar  as 

day 

Ef  a  feller  has  religion  it'll  sometimes  act  that  way  ! 
It  ain't  no  sign  the  angels  air  deef  up  thar  on  high, 
But  we  jest  can't  help  a-sendin'  in  a  halleluia  cry  ! 

Some  preachers  preach   about  it   from  mornin'  till  the 

night, 

An'  say  the  shoutin'  fellers  ain't  got  religion  right ! 
They  rule  it  out   o'   meetin'  ;  but  I   feel  it  more  an' 

more, 
A  shipwrecked  feller's   'bleeged  to  shout  the  time  he 

sights  the  shore  ! 

Fer  he's  been  lost  an'  lonesome  on  the  ocean's  roarin' 

tide, 
An'   when   he   sees   the  lights   shine  on  the  welcome 

other  side, 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


It  ain't  a  bit   o'  wonder,  in  the  night  o'    storm   an' 

foam, 
He  shouts  that  shout  o'  welcome — fer  he  hears  the 

bells  o'  home  ! 

But — talkin'  'bout  campmeetin' — we're    fixin'   fer  it 

fine  ; 

An'  ef  it  comes  to  shoutin',  we'll  ax  the  worP  to  jine  ! 
We'll  let  each  brother  have  his  way — each  one  that's 

feelin'  blest — 
An'  tell  us,  any  fashion,  how  he  likes  religion  best  f 


70 


THE  SHIP'S  COMING  HOME 

Ever  the  light  in  the  window — the  light  that  flared 
over  the  foam ; 

And  ever  the  faith  of  a  woman  :  "  The  ship's  com 
ing  home — coming  home  !  " 

Ever  the  rose  in  the  garden,  when  the  wild  larks 
were  winging  the  loam ; 

And  ever  the  faith  of  a  woman  :  "  The  ship's  com 
ing  home — coming  home  !  " 

In  dreams,  the  brave  call  of  the  captains,  from  over 

the  storm  and  the  foam : 
u  Keep  bright  the  love-light  in  the  harbor !  The  ship's 

coming  home — coming  home  !  " 

Ever  the  beat  of  the  billows — the  stars  in  the  blue  of 

the  dome; 
And    the    wind  that  is  waving  the  willows  :  u  The 

ship's  coming  home — coming  home  !  " 

And  the  weird,  far  call  of  the  captains,  and  the  toss  of 

the  turbulent  foam ; 
And  the  voice  of  the  faith  of  a  woman  :  u  The  ship's 

coming  home — coming  home  !  " 

71 


"TOLLABLE   WELL!" 

Spite  o'  the  tempests  a-blowin', 
Still  had  one  story  to  tell : 

Bright,  sunny  weather,  or  snowin', 
Allus  felt  "  tollable  well." 

Half  o'  the  settlement  sighin' — 
Things  gone  to  ruin,  pell-mell ! 

Never  did  hear  him  a-cryin'— 
Allus  felt  «  tollable  well !  " 

'Course  he  had  trouble  an*  sorrow 
(Come  to  us  all  fer  a  spell), 

But,  seein'  a  brighter  to-morrow, 
He  allus  felt  « tollable  well." 


A  POOR,   PLAIN  COLONEL 

I'd  like  to  j'ine  the  army,  an'  go  'long  with  the  re 
cruits  : 

I'd  be  shore  to  show  off  handsome  in  them  regimental 
boots ; 

I'd  beat  'em  all  a-shinin' — I'd  throw  'em  in  the  shade  ; 

But  I'm  jest  a  poor,  plain  colonel,  an'  I  ain't  got  no 
brigade  ! 

I'd  like  to  j'ine  the  army  :   I'd  be  shore  to  cut  a  dash, 
With  spurs  to  make  the  mare  go,  an'  a  shiny  sword 

an'  sash; 

I'd  make  the  finest  record  that  a  feller  ever  made ; 
But  I'm  jest  a  poor,  plain  colonel,  an'  I  ain't  got  no 

brigade ! 

Oh,  I'd  like  to  j'ine  the  army  :   I'd  be  shore  to  make 

my  way, 

An'  beat  the  best  o'  brigadiers  a-drawin'  of  their  pay  ! 
But  I'm  loafin'  roun'  the  homestead — eatin'  melons  in 

the  shade ; 
Fer  I'm  jest  a  poor,  plain  colonel,  and  I  ain't  got  no 

brigade ! 

73 


BEFORE  A   FINE   OAK   FIRE 

Who's  talkin'  'bout  the  summer  time 
When  all  the  skies  perspire  ? 

Jest  give  me  winter,  brotherin', 
An'  a  fine  oak  fire  I 

The  sleety  rain  a-comin*  down — 
The  wind  a-howlin'  higher 

Than  all  the  steeples  in  the  town, 
An'  me — before  a  fire, 

With  "  cider "  settin'  on  the  shelf— 

The  brand  I  most  desire ; 
The  blaze  a-talkin'  to  itself— 

The  language  o'  the  fire. 

That's  when  the  coldest  winter  night 

A  reg'lar  picnic  seems, 
The  sparks  a-flyin'  left  an'  right, 

An'  me  a-dreamin'  dreams  ! 

That's  when  I'm  comfortabler  than 

I  am  on  summer  days 
When  buds  an  blossoms  bresh  yer  han' 

An  vi'lets  crowd  the  ways. 

74 


BEFORE   A   FINE   OAK   FIRE 

An'  when  a  feller's  dreamin'  so 
His  oP  sweethearts  come  nigher, 

Love  takes  a  seat  an'  warms  his  feet 
Before  a  fine  oak  fire  ! 


75 


AN  ANSWERED    PRAYER 

Our  John's   been  made   a   doctor — so  all  the  papers 

tell, 
An'  he's  lookin'  'roun'  fer  business,  but  the  folks  are 

keepin'  well ; 
But  his  mother,  she  is  hopeful,  for  he's  got  to  pay  his 

bills, 
An'  she's  asked  the  Lord  fer  measels  an'  a  sprinklin' 

of  the  chills  ! 

It's   been   a  month,  I    reckon,  sence   they  took   an' 

turned  him  out, 
But  the  country  is  so  healthy  that  the  doctors  are  in 

doubt ; 
But  his  mother  keeps  on  prayin',  while  he's  dodgin' 

of  his  bills: 
An'  she's  asked  the  Lord  fer  measels  an'  a  sprinklin' 

of  the  chills  ! 

*  These  women  has   a  lot   o'  faith — they  never  loose 

their  hold. 
(I  wonder  what's  the  matter  now  ?     I'm  gittin'  kinder 

cold! 
The  good  Lord's  gone  an'  answered  her,  an'  John  '11 

pay  his  bills ; 

Fer  if  this  here  ain't  the  measels,  it's  a-sprinklin'  of 
the  chills  !) 

76 


BLOOMS 

Fairy  fingers  o'  the  Frost, 
Whatsoever  may  be  lost, 
Spare  the  blossoms  of  that  tree 
Whose  red  blooms  are  life  to  me, — 
Even  the  blooms  of  Memory  ! 

In  Life's  garden  it  stands — There, 
Braving  storm  and  wintry  air; 
When  Life's  scattered  blooms  I  see 
Trampled  where  the  black  storms  be, 
Faithful  still  to  Memory. 

Fairy  fingers  o'  the  Frost, 
Let  not  these  dear  blooms  be  lost ! 
Pass  them  by  all  pityingly, — 
Let  the  May  their  mother  be 
In  a  land  of  Memory  ! 


77 


AT  THE   OPERA 

I've  been  an'  heerd  the  opery — an'  I  reckon  it  wuz 

grand ; 
But  the  music  I've  been  raised  to  is  "  Dixie  "  by  the 

band; 

"  Way  Down  in  Alabama,"  an'  "  Darlin'  Nelly  Gray," 
An'  that  hifalutin'  singing  made  a  feller  lose  his  way  ! 

An'  then,  the  words  wuz  furrin',  an'  I  r'aly  never 
knowed 

How  to  track  'em  an'  to  keep  'em  in  the  middle  o' 
the  road; 

Fer  what  I  wuz  a-wantin' — but  I  hoped  fer  it  in 
vain — 

Wuz  a  lively  double-shuffle,  an'  "  Han's  Roun',  Liza- 
Jane  !  " 

But  the  folks  applauded  lively,  till  all  the  house  wuz 
stirred, 

Though  them  that  cheered  the  loudest  couldn't  under 
stand  a  word  ! 

An'  I  hired  of  a  feller  fer  a  quarter  of  a  dollar, 

To  nudge  me  at  the  proper  time,  an'  tell  me  when  to 
holler. 

78 


AT   THE   OPERA 


I  stood  it  out,  right  noble,  an'  when  the  thing  wuz 

through, 
Sez   I :  "  I   reckon  that    you  done  the  best  you  all 

could  do  ; 
But    you   didn't    hit    me    heavy ! "  an'   I  struck   on 

comin'  down, 
A   feller  whistlin'  "  Dixie,"   an'   follered    him    roun' 

town  ! 


79 


OUR   COUNTRY'S   CALL 

With  trump  to  trump  replying 
Still  bright  her  sabres  shine, 

With  all  her  old  flags  flying 
And  all  her  men  in  line. 

She  calls  them  from  the  highlands 
Where  tower  her  green  hills  free 

The  far  Atlantic  islands 
Still  answer  from  the  sea ! 

They  come  as  in  the  darkened 
And  deadly  days  of  yore, 

When  to  the  cry  they  hearkened 
And  braved  the  battle's  roar ! 

Her  cause  is  never  dying — 
Still  bright  her  sabres  shine, 

With  all  her  old  flags  flying, 
And  all  her  men  in  line  ! 


80 


AS  THE   BOYS   GO   MARCHING   BY 

Doesn't  it  thrill  a  fellow — make  a  glitter  in  his  eye 

And  a  fidget  in  his  footsteps — when  the  boys  go 
marching  by  ? 

Old  mem'ries  throng  around  him — with  no  regret  or 
sigh. 

He  hails  the  shining  columns  as  the  boys  go  march 
ing  by  ! 

He  seems  to  hear  the  rattle  of  the  rifles  once  again, 
As  in  the  days   God's  daisies  were  reddened  by  the 

rain. 
The   clamor   of    the    captains — the  charge    and    the 

retreat, 
And  thinks  of  Love  that  listens  for  unreturning  feet. 

Doesn't  it  thrill   a  fellow  ?     Wrinkled   and  gray  he 

stands ; 
But  oh  !   the  gleam  o'  bayonets,  and  the  banners  and 

the  bands  ! 
The  white  hair  falling  over  the  brows  of  the  old-time 

braves, 
As  they  answer  to  the  roll-call  over  their  comrades' 

graves. 

81 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


Love  of  a  common  country  :  Peace  on  the  plain  and 
hill: 

And  peace  where  the  boys  are  marching  to  the  far 
tents,  white  and  still. 

North  and  South  in  the  union,  and  never  a  tear  or 
sigh; 

But  doesn't  it  thrill  a  fellow  when  the  boys  go  march 
ing  by  ! 


82 


THE  MIRACLE   DAYS 

Good  folks,  the  days  o'   miracles  ain't  past  an'  gone 

away  : 
The  weather  man  predicted  snow,  an'  here's  the  snow 

to-day  ! 
They  know  the  path  the  sun  an'  moon  air  travellin' — 

so  they  do — 
They've  tracked  the  stars  of  heaven  an'  caught  the 

comets,  too  ! 

They  know  jest  how  the  oF  world  rolls — they've  got 

it  down  by  heart ; 
They  know  the  cyclone's  comin'  'fore  it  ever  makes 

a  start  ! 
They  know  the  awful  distance  from  here  up  to  the 

sun  ; 
They've    counted    all  the  worlds   above,  an'  named 

'em — every  one  ! 

Ain't  nuthin  hidden  from  'em — they  know  the  all-in- 
all ! 

When  obstacles  air  risin'  they  batter  down  the  wall 
An'  stand  in  all  the  glory  an'  beauty  o'  the  light, 
A-givin'  out  this  verdict — that  there  shall  be  no  night ! 

83 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


An'  I  r'a'ly  wouldn't  wonder,  at  the  pace  we're  bein' 
led,  J 

Ef  they  shook  the  world  like  thunder  by  the  raisin'  o' 
the  dead  ! 

Fer,  step  by  step  they're  goin'  upon  the  upward  wayr 

Till  a  feller's  glad  he's  livin'  in  a  world  like  this  to 
day  ! 


84 


A  PRETTY  GOOD  WORLD 

Pretty  good  world  if  you  take  it  all  round — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 
Better  be  on  than  under  the  ground — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 
Better  be  here  where  the  skies  are  as  blue 
As  the  eyes  of  your  sweetheart  a-smilin'  at  you — 
Better  than  lyin'  'neath  daisies  and  dew — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 

Pretty  good  world  with  its  hopes  and  its  fears — • 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 
Sun  twinkles  bright  through  the  rain  of  its  tears — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 
Better  be  here,  in  the  pathway  you  know — 
Where  the  thorn's  in  the  garden  where  sweet  roses 

grow, 
Than  to  rest  where  you  feel  not  the  fall  o'  the  snow — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 

Pretty  good  world  !      Let  us  sing  it  that  way — 

Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 
Make  up  your  mind  that  you're  in  it  to  stay — 

At  least  for  a  season,  good  people ! 

85 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


Pretty  good  world,  with  its  dark  and  its  bright — • 
Pretty  good  world,  with  its  love  and  its  light ; 
Sing  it  that  way  till  you  whisper,  u  Good-night ! 3 
Pretty  good  world,  good  people  ! 


86 


SINGING  HIM  TO  SLEEP 

The  river's  singin'  to  the    sea — the   river    cool    an* 

deep,— 
An'  the  reason  that  I  know  it  is  it's  singin'  me  to 

sleep  ! 
Past  all  the  plains  an'  medders — past  fiel's  whar  folks  '11 

reap, 
It's  singin'  me  to  sleep,  folks — it's  singin'  me  to  sleep  ! 

Singin'  me  to  sleep 

Whar  they  sow  an'  reap — 

In  the  shadders 

O'  the  medders 
It's  singin'  me  to  sleep  ! 

It's  jest  a-lazyin'  along  ; — no  track  o'  time  I  keep ; 
I  only  know  the  river's  song  is  singin'  me  to  sleep. 
The    busy   worl'    is  workin' — the    busy  worP   must 

weep, 
But  the  river  as  it  ripples  on  is  singin'  me  to  sleep  ! 

Singin'  me  to  sleep 

Whar  they  sow  an'  reap — 

In  the  shadders 

O'  the  medders 
It's  singin'  me  to  sleep ! 

87 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


I  ain't  got  no  ambition  ; — the  hills  air  mighty  steep  ! 
I'm  happier  whar  the  river  is  singin'  me  to  sleep. 
Never  did  like  workin' — too  hot  to  sow  or  reap ; 
I  only  wish  the  river  could  sing  the  worP  to  sleep  ! 

Singin'  me  to  sleep  : — 
Folks  that  work  must  weep ; 

But  in  shadders 

O'  the  medders 
It's  singin'  me  to  sleep  ! 


88 


THE   BLESSED   RAIN 

Dear  heart,  dost  thou  complain 
When  the  kind  God  sends  rain  ? 

Think  of  the  thirsting  crops 

That  drink  the  beady  drops — 
Think  of  the  flowers,  unfolding  all  their  sweets — 
The  city's  burning  streets, 

The  famished  flocks  upon  the  mountain  tops — 
The  windless  casements  where  the  sick  in  vain 

Cry  for  the  cool,  sweet  rain  ! 
Think— and  thank  God 
For  every  drop  that  quivers  on  a  clod  ! 


OUT   IN  THE  WEATHER 

Out  in   the  weather,  with  the  blooms  and   with  the 

birds  ! 

Set  the  sweetest  music  to  the  sweetest  human  words  ! 
Ring,  bells,  ring  ! 
And  blossoms  sway  and  swing  ! 

For  all  the  world  is  love,  my  dear,  when  all  the  world 
is  spring. 

Out  in  the  weather,  with  the  blossoms  and  the  breeze, 
The  sunshine's  gold  and  silver  on   the  tresses  o'  the 

trees  ! 

Ring,  bells,  ring ! 
While  birds  in  music  sing  ! 

All  the  world  is  love,  my  dear,  when  all  the  world  is 
spring ! 

Out  in  the  weather — the  weather  fair  and  free  ! 
And  a  river,  and  a  meadow,  and  a  mocking-bird  for  me! 
Ring,  bells,  ring, 
Where  pink  the  blossoms  swing  ! 
For  all  the  world  is  love,  my  dear,  when  all  the  world 
is  spring. 

90 


AN  INDIAN-SUMMER  DAY 

Afar  in  tangles  mazy 

Are  gold  and  scarlet  gleams ; 

But  golden-rod  and  daisy 

Tell  not  the  winds  their  dreams, 

But  even  the  winds  seem  dead,  for  they 

Ruffle  no  rose-leaf  on  their  way. 

And  yonder  where  the  hill  is 
No  blade — no  bloom  is  stirred  j 

Still  are  the  water-lilies  : 

There  is  no  whispered  word 

To  wake  the  world,  that  wakes  to  weep : 

Let  it  sleep — let  it  sleep  ! 


A   ROCKABY  SONG 

He  all  time  winkin'  at  me  wid  his  li'l  shiny  eye — 
He  de  worrienst  er  chillum  fer  ter  make  'im  rockaby  ! 
I  wonders  why  dey  let   'im  leP  de  playgroun'  in  de 

sky! 
He  won't  go  ter  sleepy  twell  de  mawnin' ! 

I  tells  'im  'bout  de  creeturs  dat  '11  come  en'  ketch  'im 

sho' 

Ef  his  li'l  eyes  stay  open — better  shet  de  sleepy  do'  ! 
But  bless  his  honey-sweetness  !  w'y,  he  only  wink  de 

mo'  !- 
He  won't  go  ter  sleepy  twell  de  mawnin' ! 

But  ain't  his  face  a  pictur  ?  Sweetest  one  I  ever  see  5 
En'  dem  eyes  er  his  is  bluer  dan  de  sky  kin  hope  ter 

be;    " 
En'  I  sorter  feels   dat  heaven's  keepin'  company  wid 

me 
Whar  he  won't  go  ter  sleepy  twell  de  mawnin'  ! 


92 


GOODBY,   MISTER   RAIN 

Sunshine  jest  a-comin'  down 

'Crost  de  hill  en  plain  ! 
Now  Miss  Nancy  drive  ter  town — 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain  ! 
She  gwine  buy  dat  Easter  hat ; 
(Won't  she  look  too  sweet  in  dat  ?) 
Make  dem  beaux  say  :  "  Whar  she  at  ? " 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain  ! 

Lizard  lookin'  mighty  spry, 

Run  lak  railroad  train  ! 
Spread  he  blanket  out  ter  dry — 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain  ! 
Rabbit  rise  up  in  de  grass — 
See  Miss  Nancy  gwine  pass ; 
Bluebird  sing  :   "  She  come  at  las' !  " 

Goodby  Mister  Rain  ! 

Wes'  Win'  say  :  "  I'll  run  a  race 

Down  dat  hill  en  plain ; 
Gwine  ter  kiss  Miss  Nancy  face  !  " 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain  ! 
Red  Rose  say  :  "  I  up  ter  dat ! 
She  gwine  wear  me  on  her  hat, — 
Make  dem  beaux  say    c  Whar  she  at  ? ' 

Goodby,  Mister  Rain  ! 
93 


HOE  YOUR  ROW 

De  fiel's  '11  soon  be  hummin' 
Roun'  de  country  high  en  low ; 

De  harves'  is  a-comin'  : 
Hoe  yo'  row ! 
Hoe  yo'  row ! 

No  time  now  fer  de  sleeper ; 

It's  "  Git  up  now,  en  go !  " 
It's  de  sower  makes  de  reaper; 

Hoe  yo'  row ! 

Hoe  yo'  row  ! 

It's  sweet  de  birds  is  singin' 
De  songs  you  lovin'  so  ; 

But  de  harves'  bells  is  ringin'  ; 
Hoe  yo'  row ! 
Hoe  yo'  row  ! 


94 


HIS  TIME  FOR  SINGING 

Chicken-hawk  a-sailin'  high, 
Hoppergrass  a-springin' ; 

Come  'long,  Mister  Mockin'-bird, 
Hit's  yo'  time  fer  singin' ! 

Brown  straw  in  de  bluebird  bill, 

Cattle-bells  a-ringin' ; 
Wake  up,  Mister  Mockin'-bird, 

Hit's  yo'  time  fer  singin' ! 

Swallow  in  de  ol'-time  gourd 
Havin'  fun  a-swingin' ; 

Rouse  up,  Mister  Mockin'-bird, 
Hit's  yo'  time  fer  singin'  ! 


95 


THE  COLORED  DANCING  MATCH 

i 

'Twuz  in  de  dancin'  season  w'en  de  fros'  wuz  layin' 
roun' 

En  de  rabbit  wuz  a-gwine  lak  a  gray  ghos'  'cross  de 
groun'— 

Wen  de  lazies'er  niggers  wuz  a-comin'  ter  de  scratch— 

Dat  we  took  de  whole  plantation  wid  de  cullud  Dan- 
cm'  Match. 

2 

De  prize  wuz — lemme  see  now ;  Two  hams,  a  sid  er 

meat, 
Sack  er  flour,  en  a  jimmyjohn  what  had  a  mouth  ez 

sweet 
Ez  a  hive   a-drippin'  honey — ez  a  red  rose,  w'en  de 

dew 
Sorter  tilts  it,  'twell  it's  leanin'  ter  de  bees  what  drinks 

ter  you. 

3 

De  flo'  wuz  smooth  en  sanded,  de  fiddler  in  his  place — 
De  lively  music  ripplin'  'cross  de  wrinkles  in  his  face 
En  lightin'  up  de  eyes  er  him,  en  tinglin'  ter  his  feet : 
"  Good  Times  in  Ole  Verginny,"  en  "  Kentucky's 
Hard  ter  Beat  !  " 

96 


THE    COLORED    DANCING    MATCH 

4 

De  schedule  fer  de  dancin'  wuz  "  All  git  in  de  ring  ! " 
En  "  Who'll  hoP  out  de  longes'  whilst  dey  got  a  foot 

ter  fling  ! " 

Dey  wuz  twenty  answer  roll-call,  lak  a  sojerin'  brigade, 
En  dey  never  wuz  sich  dancin'   sence  a  fiddle-string 

wuz  made  ! 

5 

En    couple    after    couple — fagged    out    en    short    er 
breath — 

Went  reelin'  f'um  dat  dancin'  'fo'  dey  dance  deyse'f 
ter  death  ! 

All  of  'em  'cept    Br'er  Williams  :  he  wuz   in  de  ring 
fer  sho', 

En  his  foots  des  kep'  a-kickin'  er  de  white  san'  f'um 
de  flo'  ! 

6 

De  fiddlestick  a-flyin',  de  lights  a-gittin'  low, 

De  music  in  a  gallop,  en  Br'er  Williams  on  de  go  ! 

"  You  wins  de  prize,  Br'er  Williams  !  " — But  still  de 
fiddler  played, 

En   lightnin'  wuzn'    nuthin'  ter  de  steps   Br'er  Will 
iams  made  ! 

97 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


7 

He  dance  so  fas',  I  tell  you  he  paralyze  dem  folks ; 
Lak  a  wagon-wheel   a-gwine  'twell   you  des  can't  see 

de  spokes  ! 

Wid  shuffle,  shuffle,  shuffle,  en  many  a  turn  en  twist, 
His  form  a-gittin'  misty,  en  de  fiddler  in  de  mist  ! 

8 

De  lights  gone  out ;  de  owl  hoot ;  de  dogs  begin  ter 
bark, 

En  Br'er  Williams  lookin'  ghos'-like  wid  dat  dancin' 
in  de  dark  ! 

Out  de  winders  jumped  de  people  ;  de  mules  com 
mence  ter  prance, 

En  'twuz,  "  Good  Lawd,  he'p  Br'er  Williams,  fer 
de  devil's  in  de  dance  !  " 

9 
Dey  galloped  'cross  de  country — de  wagon's  rattlin' 

'long  ; 

But  still  heerd  dat  fiddle  gwine  in  a  mos'  andy'ir?  song ! 
En  lookin'  back,  dey  sighted  in  de  skeery-lookin'  light 
Br'er  Williams  still  a-dancin'  lak  a  shadder  in  de 

night. 


THE    COLORED    DANCING    MATCH 

10 

En  in  de  dancin'  season,  Pum  de  valley  en  de  hill 
Dey  kin  see'Br'er  Williams    dancin' — heah   de  fiddle 

playin'  still, 
En    heah    de    night  owls  hootin',  see  de  ole  ha'nts 

stan'in'  round', 
Whilst  Br'er  Williams'  ghos'  is  movin'  ter  de  fiddle's 

squeaky  soun'. 

ii 

En  dar  he'll  dance  ferever,  w'en    de  fros'  is   Tallin' 

gray; 

En  dat  terrifyin'  fiddler  makes  de  same  oF  fiddle  play ; 
You  kin  heah  de  flo'  a-creakin',  en  de  win'  all  mo'n- 

ful  sighs  ; 
En  we  don't  want  no  mo'  dancin'  whar  de  devil  wins 

de  prize  ! 


99 


"DES  A  LI'L'   CABIN" 

Des  a  KT  cabin,  en  a  white  road  leadin'  ter  it ; 
I  Toilers  up  de  furrer,  en  I  hoe  de  cotton  fer  it ; 

Chillun  on  de  flo', 

En  a  woman  in  de  do', 
Singin'  en  singin'  in  de  mawnin'. 

Des  a  KT  cabin  in  de  shadder  er  de  pines, 

Frame  wid  honeysuckles  en  de  mornin'  glory  vines ; 

LiT  spot  o'  groun' 

Wid  de  chillun  playin'  roun', 
Singin'  en  singtn'  in  de  mawnin'. 

Des  a  li'P  cabin  whar  de  firelight  I  see, 

Twinklin'  er  a  welcome  'cross  de  cotton  fields  ter  me. 

Sayin' :   u  Whar  you  roam 

Heah's  yo'  home,  yo  home,  yo'  home  !  " 
Singin'  en  singin'  in  de  mawnin'. 

Des  a  li'P  cabin  ;   yit  it  frequent  'pears  so  high, 
Dey  kin  hear  what  we  a-sayin'  in  de  mansions  in  de 

sky! 

Dis  word  de  sweet  word  said — 
"  Give  us  our  daily  bread  !  " 
Singin'  en  singin'  in  de  mawnin'. 
100 


DES   A   Li  'L  '   CABIN 


Des  a  liT  cabin  whar  de  blue  smoke  rise  en  curl, 
Kin   hoP  enough   er   happiness   ter   reach   eroun'  de 
worl'  ! 

Dey  tells  me  dat  I  po' — 

But  de  woman's  in  de  do' 
Singin'  en  singin'  in  de  mawnin'. 


IOT 


A  SPRINGTIME   PHILOSOPHER 

I  kin  tell  w'en  Springtime  comin'  by  de  mos'  onfall- 
in*  signs  ; 

Tain't  de  risin'  sap  what  tingle  ter  de  tip-top  er  de 
pines, 

Or  de  fros'  what  leP  de  furrer,  or  de  larks  a- fly  in' 
low 

Or  de  whistle  er  de  pa'tridge  kaze  he  love  his  sweet 
heart  so  ! 

But  I  sorter  hez  a  feelin'  what  I  dunno  how  ter  call, 
Dat  ef  I  wuz  a  blossom  I'd  hang  low,  en  never  fall ! 
Dat  ef  Gabrul   blowed   his   trumpet    fer   de   sleepin' 

folks  ter  rise 
I'd  des  feel  too  contented   fer  ter  wake  en  rub  my 

eyes  ! 

Hit's  somepin'  in  de  elements — de  blowin'  er  de  breeze, 
De  listenin'  er  de  lily  fer  de  comin'  er  de  bees  ; 
De  lazy  river  gwine  'long  a-feelin'  er  his  way 
Ter   de   medders,  en    sweet   places   whar   de   honey 
suckles  stay. 

IO2 


A   SPRINGTIME  PHILOSOPHER 

De  sun,  he  say  "  Good-mawnin' !  "  whar   de  fiel's  is 

drench  wid  dew, 
En  I  des  ain't  enterprisin'  'nuff  ter  tell  'm,  "  Same  ter 

you !  " 
De  trees,  dey  tells  me  u  Howdy  !     We  a-dressin'  fer 

de  show, 
En  soon  we'll  meet  de  mockin'  birds  en   swing  'em 

high  en  low  !  " 

But  I  never  makes  no  answer !     I   des   lays  back  so 

still 

En  lazy  in  de  sunshine — lak  I  los'  my  way  en  will ! 
Wid  eyes   shet   tight,  en   dreamin'   in    my  app'inted 

place, 
I   wouldn't   bresh   a   bluefly  Pum   de   furrers   in    my 

face  ! 

Oh,  I  knows  w'en  Spring's  a  comin',  en  I  done  laid 

down  my  rule, 
Dat   I  wuzn't   bo'n  fer  plowin'  en   gee-hawin'  er  de 

mule, 
But  fer  listenin'  ter  de  cattle  bells  'cross   daisies  cool 

en  deep, 
Wid  de  feelin'  what  de  trees  hez  w'en  dey  rocks  de 

birds  ter  sleep  ! 

103 


TWO  VIEWS   OF   IT 

Wen  de  blizzard  blow  my  neighbor  house 
Clean  off  de  whole  plantation, 

En  he  weep  en  cry, 

En  moan  en  sigh, 

En  he  fin'  hisse'f  lef '  high  en  dry 

Dat's  done  fer  his  soul's  salvation  ! 

Wen  de  blizzard  blow  my  house  away, 
En  I  howls  lak  all  creation, 

Hit's  plain  ez  day 

En  a  furrer  in  May, 

(I  des  don't  keer  what  my  neighbor  say.) 
Dat's  a  mighty  strange  dispensation  ! 


104 


THE  WAY  TO  THE  MELON  PATCH 

Don't  want  no  moon,  en  not  one  match 
Fer  ter  light  my  way  ter  de  melon  patch ; 

Night  or  day 

(Dat  what  I  say  !) 
I  kin  shet  my  eye  en  fin'  my  way  ! 

De  road  ez  white  ez  a  streak  er  light ; 

But  I  takes  de  path  whar  de  san'  ain't  bright ; 

Kaze  de  white  man  wait 

By  de  shotgun  gate, 
Fer  ter  blow  me  clean  'cross  Georgy  state ! 

So,  take  yo'  moon,  en  keep  yo'  match ; 
I  knows  my  way  ter  de  melon  patch ! 

Night  or  day, 

Whilst  you  watch  en  pray, 
I  shets  my  eye  en  I  fin's  my  way  ! 


105 


SWING   DEM   SISTERS 

Th'ow  some  white  san'  on  dat  flo' — 
Put  some  rozzum  on  dat  bow ; 
Dis  heah's  Chris'mus  time  fer  sho'— 
Swing  dem  sisters  ! 

Do  dat  ol'  time  fiddle  proud ! 
Call  de  riggers — call  'em  loud ! 
Who  dance  bes'  in  all  de  crowd  ? 
Swing  dem  sisters ! 

Han's  all  roun',  en'  "  Short'in  Bread  ; 
Fling  yo'  boots  an'  ben'  yo'  head ; 
Dance  ontell  you  shake  de  shed — 
Swing  dem  sisters  ! 

Winders  rattlin',  en  de  wall 
Shakin'  lak'  he  gwine  ter  fall  ! 
Come  in  one,  en  come  in  all — 
Swing  dem  sisters ! 


106 


FOR  CHRISTMAS  GRACE 

I  ax  de  Lawd  fer  Chris'mus  grace— 
Ter  sen'  dese  chillun  some  ; 

But  dar's  no  chimbly  ter  de  place, 
How  Santy  Claus  gwine  come  ? 

I  wonders  whar  we  all  so  po', 

Ef  he'll  come  knockin'  at  de  do'  ? 

In  dey  sweet  sleep  de  chillum  stir — 
Dey  heahs  de  bells  in  town  ; 

I  wish  we  had  a  chimbly  fer 
De  ol'  man  ter  come  down ! 

You  reckon,  whar  we's  all  so  po% 
Dat  he'll  come  knockin'  at  de  do*  ? 


107 


A  FIELD  SONG 

I  up  fo'  day 

En  on  my  way 
("  Plow  dat  furrer  ter  de  en'  !  ") 

All  day  long 

De  same  ol'  song — 
"  Plow  dat  furrer  ter  de  en'  !  " 

O  believers — 

You  dat  sow  en  reap, 
De  sun  shine  hot 
In  ever'  spot 

But  you  ain't  got  time  ter  sleep ! 

De  jaybird,  say 

"  Hit's  a  holiday- 
Plow  dat  furrer  ter  de  en' ! " 

De  fiel'-lark  'low, 

"  Dey  got  you  now  ! — 
Plow  dat  furrer  ter  de  en'  !  " 

O  believers — 

You  dat  sow  en  reap, 
De  sun  shine  hot 
In  ever'  spot, 

But  you  ain't  got  time  ter  sleep  ! 
108 


A  FIELD   SONG 


But  I  plows — I  does — 

Whar  de  melon  wuz, 
De  bes'  dat  de  good  Lawd  sen' ; 

En  fum  north  ter  souf 

I  smacks  my  mouf 
Ez  I  plows  dat  furrer  ter  de  en*  ! 

O  believers — 

You  dat  sow  en  reap 
You'll  sho'  feel  prime 
In  de  melon  time, 

But  you  won't  have  time  ter  sleep  ! 


109 


A  SONG  OF  TO-MORROW 

Li'P  bit  er  trouble, 

Honey,  fer  terday ; 
Yander  come  Termorrer — 

Shine  it  all  away  ! 

Rainy  Sky  is  sayin', 

"  Dis'll  never  do  ! 
Fetch  dem  rainbow  ribbons, 

En  I'll  dress  in  blue  !  " 


1 10 


MARCH   AND  APRIL 

Mister  March  gone  howlin' — 
Des  lak  he  drunk  wid  dram  : 

He  fling  his  fros'  at  Aperl 
En  hit  de  steeples — ba-am  ! 

But  Aperl,  in  his  rosy  yard, 

He  say, "  Go  'long,  you  ole  blowhard  !  " 

De  Vi'lets  hunt  fer  kiver.        * 
De  peach  blooms  lef '  de  place, 

De  half-dress'  Lily  shiver, 
De  Rose  red  in  de  face  ! 

But  Aperl  say  :     "  My  task  is  plain  : 

I'll  beat  you  back  wid  silver  rain !  " 

En  den  he  git  a  armful 

Er  all  his  lilies  white, 
En  take  his  rain  en  roses 

En  pelt  'im  out  er  sight  ! 
But  March,  he  say  dat  he  don't  keer, — 
«  I  bet  you  I'll  be  back  nex'  year  !  " 


ill 


HIS  SONG   OF  MONEY 

I  tellen'  you,  my  honey, 

Dat  you  better  make  de  money 
Whilst  de  light  is  still  a-shinin'  in  de  skies  ; 

Whilst  de  weather  lookin'  sunny 

Ain't  de  bees  a-makin'  honey  ? 
Hit's  de  money,  Oh,  my  honey,  wins  de  prize  ! 

I  tellin'  you,  my  honey, 

You  kin  buil'  a  worl'  wid  money, 
En  brighten  up  its  winter  en  its  spring ; 

De  bigges'  gate  is  swingin' 

W'en  de  dollar  come  a-ringin'— 
Dey  allus  know  de  dollar  by  its  ring  ! 

But,  atter  all,  my  honey, 

W'en  you  gives  yo'  life  fer  money, 
En  de  shadders  'gin  ter  gether  roun'  you  fas', 

W'en  trouble  come  a-sighin', 

En  de  heart  er  you  is  cryin', 
Hit's  Love  dat  bring  de  comfort  ter  you  las'  ! 


112 


THE  WAY   LOVE   LEADS 

I 

Thorns  or  flowers  in  life  may  be, 

But  the  way  Love  leads  is  the  way  for  me, 

II 

Never  a  question,  never  a  fear 
Under  God's  heaven,  if  Love  be  near. 

Ill 

Bitter  the  burdens  of  life,  but  still 

I  bear  them  meekly  at  Love's  sweet  will. 

IV 

Knowing  that  Love  of  life  is  Lord, 
Not  a  rewarder,  but  a  Reward  ! 


DEAR,  TOILING   HANDS 

I 

Made  for  a  throne,  to  give  a  queen's  commands, 

That  glad  hearts  might  obey, 
These  beautiful  and  love-kissed,  tender  hands 

Yet  toil  along  life's  way. 

II 

Frail  as  a  lily,  bowed  upon  its  stem, 

With  the  spring  rains  impearled, 
Surely  the  kind  God  did  not  fashion  them 

To  battle  with  a  world  ! 

Ill 

Made  for  the  sweetest  kiss  that  love  bestows — 
Not  for  a  cruel  strife  ; 

In  life's  sweet  gardens  they  should  reap  the  rose- 
Not  the  red  thorns  of  life  ! 

IV 

Dear  hands  of  Duty,  in  a  life  of  loss 

Fighting  against  despair 
Where  a  cold  world  would  nail  them  to  a  cross 

And  leave  them  bleeding  there. 
114 


DEAR,   TOILING   HANDS 
V 

They  shiver  in  the  wintry  cold ;  they  know 

Never  the  kiss  of  Rest. 
Would  that  the  world  its  pity  would  bestow 

And  warm  them  at  Love's  breast ! 

VI 
Dear  hands  !  that  make  each  sacrifice  complete 

Of  Love  that  dares  so  much  ! 
Some  child's  brow,  bending  for  a  blessing  sweet, 

Is  aching  for  your  touch ! 

VII 

Some  home,  in  whose  dim  halls  no  lovelight  shines, 

Would  at  your  will  grow  bright ; 
Yearning  for  you  to  trim  the  blossoming  vines 

Loveward,  toward  the  light ! 

VIII 

Yet,  toiling  ever,  in  bleak,  barren  ways — 

Bound  as  with  iron  bands, 
Take  from  a  singer  this  poor  meed  of  praise, 

Dear,  faithful,  serving  hands  ! 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


IX 

Holy  with  service  !      On  this  flowerless  sod 

Not  vainly  you  have  striven  : 
Toiling  for  Love,  dear  hands  !  you  toil  for  God 

And  so,  take  hold  on  heaven  ! 


116 


THE  VICTORY  OF  PEACE 

Spring,  with  her  banners  gold  and  green, 
With  her  splendid  suns  and  her  stars  serene, 

Smiles  in  the  peace  that  comes  after  the  fray  ; 
And  under  the  arch  of  the  April  skies 
The  starry  flag  of  the  Union  flies 

Comrades  !  over  your  breasts  to-day. 
Forward  !   March  !  to  the  roll  of  the  drum 
The  loyal  sons  of  the  Southland  come  ' 

Not  to  the  battle  ! — the  cannon's  roar 

Is  heard  in  the  forests  and  fields  no  more ; 

The  sweetest  roses  in  all  the  South, 
Blossoming  up  from  the  stainless  sod, 
With  incense  sweet  as  they  smile  to  God, 
Have  sealed  with  silence  its  iron  mouth. 
Your    guns   are   stacked   and    your   swords    are 

sheathed, 
And  your  brows  with  the  laurels  of  Peace  are 

wreathed. 

It  is  after  the  battle  ;  what  sounds  are  here  ? 
The  songs  of  birds  on  the  scented  air ; 
117 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


The  murmurous  sigh  of  the  inland  gales ; 
The  voice  of  the  rivers  that  dashing  free, 
Move  in  melody  out  to  sea 

By  murmurous  meadows  and  violet  vales  ; 
Where  once,  in  the  strife  and  the  passion  and  pain, 
Rose  the  shout  of  the  victor,  the  cry  of  the  slain. 

It  is  after  the  battle ;  the  fight  is  done ; 
The  victory  lost  and  the  victory  won  ! 

And  ye,  who  fared  to  the  fight  and  shed 
Your  blood  on  the  battle  fields,  come  to-day — 
Thinned  brigades  from  the  far-away, 

To  the  silent  hillocks  that  hide  your  dead  ! 
Halt !   there  are  heroes  that  slumber  here, 
And  ye  are  such  for  the  wounds  ye  bear ! 

Beat,  ye  drums,  with  no  muffled  sound  ! 
Let  the  bugles  echo  the  camps  around  ! 

And  still  three  cheers  for  the  boys  in  gray  ! 
For  whether  they  lived,  or  whether  they  died, 
The  South  by  their  valor  is  glorified 

And  rich  in  her  record  of  love  to-day  ! 
Sons  of  the  South  !   there's  a  victory  sweet 
That  comes  to  the  brave  in  the  ranks  of  defeat  ! 
118 


THE   VICTORY   OF   PEACE 

Here  are  they  lying,  the  ones  that  shed 

'I 'heir  blood  for  the  South  till  her  vales  ran  red, 

And  her  rivers  blushed  with  the  crimson  tide  ! 
Honor  them  !      Over  their  graves  the  years 
Have  scattered  their  roses  and  showered  their  tears 

And  Southern  women  have  knelt  and  sighed. 
Honor  them !      Honor  was  theirs,  and  fame 
Enshrines  in  glory  each  deathless  name. 

The  flag  that  they  bore  to  the  fight  is  furled, 
Hidden  away  from  the  new-made  world, 

And  trailed  in  the  dust  are  its  crimson  bars ; 
The  beautiful  flag  !   and  they  loved  it  so, 
But  that  is  now  in  the  long-ago, 

When  the  heavens  were  beaming  with  hope 
ful  stars ; 

Yet  rare  is  the  garland  that  o'er  them  waves — 
Whose  crimson  shadow  falls  on  their  graves. 

And  Peace,  like  a  beautiful  angel,  broods 
O'er  the  fertile  fields  and  the  solitudes 

Of  a  land  made  bright  by  the  smile  of  God ; 
And — dearest  blessing  of  all — to-day, 
The  foes  who  fought  in  the  far-away, 

Are  re-united  on  this  dear  sod, 
119 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


Which  blossoms  over  the  slain  of  war — 
Friends !  was  it  love  we  were  fighting  for  ? 

Oh,  love  is  ours.     Though  the  fight  was  sore, 
It  is  ended  now — we  are  friends  once  more  ! 

Once  more — thank  God  ! — we  can    proudly 

stand, 

And  looking  back  on  the  bloody  past, 
Say  :  "  It  is  over  at  last — at  last !  " 

With  heart  to  heart  and  with  hand  to  hand, 
Over — and  here,  in  the  sight  of  heaven, 
We  do  forgive,  as  we  are  forgiven. 

And  thus  forgiven,  brave  hearts  and  true, 
The  boys  in  gray  and  the  boys  in  blue — 

Your  higher  mission  at  last  is  done, 
And  though  o'er  the  graves  of  our  dead  we  weep, 
We  can  trust  them  all  to  the  tender  keep 

Of  the  God  who  guides  us  and  makes  us  one  ! 
One  in  the  union  which  shall  not  cease 
Till  the  flags  are  furled  in  the  Port  of  Peace. 


1 20 


JEAN 

Jean — my  Jean — with  the  eyes  of  light 

An'  the  beautiful,  soft  brown  hair, 
D'ye  know  that  I'm  longin'  for  you  to-night — 
For  your   lips, — for    the   clasp   of  your   hand   so 
white, 

An'  the  thrill  o'  your  voice  so  dear  ? 

Jean — my  Jean — of  the  glances  bright, 

Where  the  smile  shines  through  the  tear^ 
D'ye  know  that  I'm  callin'  to  you  to-night 
Where  the  seagulls  cry  like  ghosts  in  flight, 
An'  the  dark  falls  lone  an'  drear  ? 

Jean — my  Jean — where  the  snow  drifts  white 

Through  the  answerless,  icy  air, — 
Ah,  would  to  God  you  were  here  to-night, 
Braiding  your  beautiful  tresses  of  light, 

An'  that  I  were  lying  there  ! 


121 


THE   RIDE  WITH   MOLLY 

The  bees  were  in  the  blossoms  and  the  woods  were 

white  as  snow, 
With  miles  and  miles  o'  daisies  in  a  springtime  long 

ago; 
And  the  winds  from  dreaming  meadows  came  with 

kisses  sweet  and  kind 
When  I  drove  the  cows  from  pasture  and  Molly  rode 

behind. 

I  remember  all  about  it — the   pathway    through  the 

dells, 
Where  the  old  mare  timed  her  footsteps  to  the  music 

of  the  bells 
That  clanked  the  whole  way  homewards  to  the  merry 

milking  place, 
But  mostly  I  remember  Molly's  curls  about  my  face  ! 

For  riding  there  behind  me,  every  breeze   a-blowing 

free 
Would  catch  'em  and  would  kiss  'em  and  toss  'em 

over  me  ! 

122 


THE   RIDE   WITH   MOLLY 

And  sometimes,  too,  I    turned  my  head  to  see  her 

bright  eyes  shine, 
And  our  faces  came  together  and  her  lips  were  close 

to  mine  ! 

I  didn't  mind  the  labor  in  the  fields  or  in  the  glades — 

The  long  and  weary  furrows  where  the  young  corn 
waved  its  blades, 

For  I  knew  that  ere  the  twilight  came  a  sweet  reward 
I'd  find— 

I'd  drive  the  cows  from  pasture  and  Molly'd  ride  be 
hind  ! 

And  once  the  folks  got  anxious,  and  said  :  "  The  cows 
are  late," 

And  they  looked  and  looked  for  Molly  and  the  old 
mare  at  the  gate  ; 

And  the  reason  was  I'd  "  said  the  word,"  and  kinder 
spoke  my  mind  : 

The  old  mare  ran  away  with  me  and  Molly  rode  be 
hind  ! 


123 


THE   WOMAN'S   SONG 

They'll  never  have  done  with  the  fightin'  on  land  an' 

over  sea ; 
Government — Government,  what  does  it  care — what 

does  it  care  for  me  ? 
Bugles  must  blow  an'  flags  must  wave,  an'  the  muffled 

drums  must  beat, 
An'  what  to  a  lass  is  a  lover  when  they  lay  him  dead 

at  her  feet  ? 
They'll  never  have  done  with  the  fightin'.     Forward 

the  columns  sweep  ; 
I  hear  the  shout  o'  the  captains  as  I  tend  the  hearth 

an'  weep. 
Far  off  an'   faint — but  I  hear  it;  an'  a  white,  dead 

face  I  see 
Under  the  sod  in  the  grave  that  God  an'  government 

make  for  me  ! 
His  hair  was   like   the  raven's  wing.     (I  joy  that  my 

lips  have  prest, 
As  it  fell  in  its  flowing   beauty,  this  dark  lock  on  my 

breast ! ) 

124 


THE   WOMAN'S   SONG 


An'  his  brave,  bright  eyes  looked   love  to  mine — the 

eyes  I  shall  never  see 
'Till  God  at  the  great  white  Judgment  Day  shall  give 

him  back  to  me. 
Bible  they've  got  for  battles  :     For  men  have  fought 

an'  died 
Ere  the  Prince  of  Peace  said  strife  should  cease — the 

Prince  that  they  crucified  ; 
Though  a  woman's  tears  bedew  the  years,  shall  they 

stay  the  crimson  tide  ? 
What  can  you  do  with  government,  with  Bible  on  its 

side  ? 

Men  must  fight  the  battles ;  lover  an'  lass  must  part ; 
But  what  is  a  star  of  glory  to  a  woman's  broken  heart  ? 
Government's  right,  they  tell  me,  an'  the  wrong  must 

righted  be  : 
Give  the  lass  then  to  her  lover — an'  my  dead  love 

back  to  me  ! 


125 


HER  TALKING  EYES 

Mollie  is  graduating  an'  they  say  she's  goin'  to  speak 
A  little  piece  in  Latin,  an'  another  piece  in  Greek. 
I  dunno  nuthin'  about  'em  :  I'm   dull    as    a    dunce 

could  be, 
But  Moll  has  a  way  of  talkin'  with  her  dear,  sweet 

eyes,  to  me  ! 

What  do  I  keer  for  Latin  ?     It's  Greek  to  me,  I  say  ! 
But  I  understan'  the  language  when  her   bright  eyes 

look  my  way  ! 
I  know  she's  thar',  on  the  platform  ;  I  hear  her  sweet 

voice  speak  : 
But  her  eyes — they're  talkin'  English  to  the  heart  that 

don't  know  Greek  ! 

I  hear  the  folks  applaudin'  :      I  hear  'em,  an'  I  say  : 
"  They  dunno  nuthin'  about  the  eyes  that  are  lookin' 

her  lover's  way  !  " 
But  I  read  'em ;  an'  feel  more  thankful  than  ever  my 

heart  kin  speak, 
That  her  dear  eyes   talk   in  English  to  the  heart  that 

don't  know  Greek  ! 

126 


THE   LITTLE  ONE  AWAY 

World  ain't  like  it  used  to  be — colder  skies  in  May ; 
Summer  ain't  so  sweet  to  me.    The  little  one's  away  ! 
Wish  the  birds  a-singing  could  reach  the  ones  that 

roam  ; 
Wish  the  sweet   bells  ringing   could    ring  my  darling 

home  ! 

Sit  here  in  the  sunshine,  solemn-like — ,  and  see 

Morning  glories  peeping  in  where  once  she  used  to  be; 

They  loved  her  little  window,  with  the  blossoms  and 
the  lights  ; 

Gave  her  glad  good  mornings,  kissed  her  sweet  good- 
nights. 

Sit  here  in  the  darkness,  when  no  winds  the  maples 

stir, 

And  hear  the  silence  singing  a  sad,  sweet  song  of  her ; 
I  know  the  lilies  dream  of  her,  with  her  the  roses 

roam, 
And  sunflowers  shine  like  stars  of  gold  and  lean  to 

light  her  home. 

127 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


World  ain't  what  it  used  to  be — skies  are  cold  and 

gray; 

Summer  ain't  as  sweet  to  me  :  The  little  one's  away  ! 
Wish  the  birds   a-singing   could   reach  the  ones  that 

roam  ; 
Wish  the  glad  bells   ringing  could  ring   my  darling 

home  ! 


128 


WHAT   THE   TOYS   SAID 

The  Hobby  Horse  said, 

As  he  shook  his  head  : 
"  It's  a  long,  long  ways  to  go 

O'er  the  white  snow's  foam 

To  the  little  boy's  home  ; 
But  I  hear  the  tin  horns  blow, 
And  must  race  away  'till  I'm  out  o'  breath 
To  the  Little  Boy  who  will  ride  me  to  death  ! " 

And  the  Toy  Drum  said  : 

"  I've  a  hardened  head, 
And  away  on  my  sticks  I'll  go 

From  this  icy  dome 

To  the  Little  Boy's  home — 
I  can  beat  my  way  through  the  snow  ! 
Away  !   away  !  'till  I'm  out  o'  breath, 
To  the  Little  Boy  who  will  beat  me  to  death  !  " 

And  the  Toy  Doll  said, 

As  her  gold-crowned  head 
Shone  over  the  wintry  snow : 

"  To  the  Little  Girls 

Of  the  golden  curls 
In  a  fairy  coach  I'll  go ; 
129 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


Far — far  away,  'till  I'm  out  of  breath, 

To  the  Little  Girls  who  will  kiss  me  to  death !  " 

But  the  Elephant  said  : 

"  If  that  way  I'm  led, 
And  they  treat  you  all  so  bad, 

I  tell  you  now 

That  there'll  be  a  row, 
And  they'll  wish  they  never  had  ! 
For  I'll  pack  them  all  in  my  trunk,  you  see, 
And  lock  it,  and  throw  away  the  key  !  " 


130 


MISS    MARY 

I  miss  Miss  Mary  fum  de  place  ; 

She  take  the  blossom  track ; 
I  'fraid  de  river  steal  her  face 

En  den  won't  give  it  back  ! 

Fer  ever'  time  she  pass 

I  heah  de  river  say  : 
"  Miss  Mary,  heah's  yo'  lookin'-glass — 

I  wish  you  look  dis  way  !  " 

I  miss  Miss  Mary  fum  de  place ; 

De  sun  done  gone  ter  bed  ; 
De  red  rose  'low  he  lonesome  now — 

De  lily  hang  her  head. 

En  ever'whar  she  pass 

I  heah  dem  wil'  flowers  say : 
"  Heah's  a  dewdrap  fer  yo'  lookin'-glass — 

Miss  Mary,  look  dis  way  !  " 


WE'LL  GET  ON  THE   BRIGHTER 
SIDE 

Toil  in  the  cities,  and  till  the  ground ; 

The  world  is  green  and  wide, 
And  some  of  these  days,  when  the  world  turns  round, 

We'll  get  on  the  brighter  side  ! 

Sow  and  reap,  and  work,  and  weep 

For  the  blessings  that  are  denied ; 
And  some  of  these  days,  in  the  morning's  rays, 

We'll  get  on  the  brighter  side. 

Some  of  these  days,  in  the  thorny  ways 

Will  the  lilies  of  joy  abide  ; 
The  birds  will  sing,  and  the  bells  will  ring, 

And  we'll  get  on  the  brighter  side. 

Then  toil  in  the  cities,  and  till  the  ground, 

Whatever  may  be  denied ; 
For  some  of  these  days,  when  the  world  turns  round, 

We'll  get  on  the  brighter  side  ! 


132 


NAMING  THE   BABY 

We  jest  can't   git  a  name  fer  him — but  I'm  a-keepin' 

still ! 
Ef  they  name  him   "  William  Jinkins,"   why,  they're 

shore  to  call  him  "  Bill  !  " 
The  mother  thought  of  "  Moses,"  but  the  goodness 

gracious  knows 
Ef  she  ever  slaps  that  name  to  him  he'll  trot  along  as 

«  Mose !  " 

The  preacher  said  "  Ezekiel  "  wuz  the  name  we  orter 

seek; 
But  I  floored  him  when   I   tol'  him  they  would  cut  it 

down  to  "  Zeke  !  " 
An'  then  he  sprung  "  Jehosophat  " — but  still  he   met 

with  loss, 
Fer  I  tol'  him,  shore   as   preachin',  they  would  halter 

him  to  "  Hoss  !  " 

We  run  all  through  the  catalogue,  but  not  a  name  we 

foun' 
But  offered   fine  inducements   fer  the   folks  to  cut  it 

down  ! 

133 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


But  last,  the  mother  up  en  said — it  made  the  preacher 

nod  : — 
u  He's   sich  a  heavenly  blessin'   we'll  jest   call   him 

*  Grace  o'  God  !  '  " 


134 


HOW   THE    OLD    MAN    WENT    HOME 

(John  Spraddley,  a  Former  Slave,  and  Faithful  Servant.) 
I 

Three  score  years  and  ten  he  went 

Singing  along  his  way — content, 

With  never  a  thought  or  wish  to  roam : 

"  Heah's  my  people,  en  heah's  my  home  ! 

Heah's  de  house  whar  de  ole  man  bo'n — 

De  cotton  blooms,  en  de  fiePs  er  co'n  ; 

But  all  but  him  en  de  house  is  gone  ! 

Done  crossed  over  de  Jordan  tide 

En  reached  de  home  on  de  yuther  side." 

Never  a  thought  or  wish  to  roam  : 

"  Heah's  my  people,  en  heah's  my  home !  " 

II 

He  died  to-day  in  the  old  home  place; 
And  the  light  that  fell  on  his  dying  face 
Was  bright  as  the  light  of  that  city  of  white 
Where  never  is  weeping,  and  never  night. 
And  the  old,  firm  friends  there,  at  his  side, 
Marvelled  much  as  the  old  man  died 
To  see  the  dark  brows  glorified  ! 
135 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


An'  he  said  as  the  light  in  his  sight  grew  dim  : 
"  I  trusts  de  Lawd,  en  I  friends  wid  Him !  " 
Never  a  thought  or  wish  to  roam  : 
But  he  found  his  people,  and  reached  his  home  ! 


DAT'S  MY  LI'L'  BOY 

Don'  keer  how  he  rompin'  roun'- 

Fill  de  house  wid  joy ; 
Le'  'm  play  en  have  his  way  : 

Dat's  my  li'l'  boy  ! 

Go  ter  school  twell  holiday, 

Wid  his  book  en  toy ; 
u  Beats  de  Ian',"  de  teacher  say, 

Dat's  my  li'l'  boy  ! 

Mammy  gittin'  oP ;   I  spec' 
Soon  she'll  miss  de  joy 

Er  his  a'ms  eroun'  her  neck : 
Good-by,  li'l'  boy  ! 


THE  ABSENCE  OF  PHILIP 

Sweet  Laura  now  the  cypress  twines 
And  far  her  heart  must  roam  ; 

For  Philip's  in  the  Philippines, 
And  Philip  pines  for  home  ! 

A  lovely  maiden,  all  forlorn, 
No  joy  her  sorrow  checks ; 

All  night  she  weeps,  till  dewey  morn 
Shines  on  the  Dewey  decks. 

And  Philip  sighs  from  dark  to  dawn, 
By  sad  misfortune  schooled, 

And  writes  eight  saffron  pages  on 
Manila  wrapping  (ruled). 

And  Laura  weeps  to  read  the  lines, 
And  looks  across  the  foam ; 

For  Philip's  in  the  Philippines, 
And  Philip  pines  for  home  ! 


138 


THE   RIPPLING   OF  OLD  GLORY 

They'd  better  all  be  keerful, 
An'  look  out  whar  they  tread  ! 

I  never  seen  Old  Glory 
A-ripplin'  out  so  red  ! 

She's  like  a  million  rainbows 

Way  up  thar  on  the  shed, 
With  the  stars  of  states  a-twinklin', 

An'  the  old  stripes  ripplin'  red ! 

Be  keerful — mighty  keerful ! 

Thar's  trouble  overhead ; 
I  never  seen  Old  Glory 

A-ripplin'  out  so  red  I 


JUST   WHISTLE 

When  times  are  bad  an  folks  are  sad 

An'  gloomy  day  by  day 
Jest  try  your  best  at  lookin'  glad 

An'  whistle  'em  away. 

Don't  mind  how  troubles  bristle  5 
Jest  take  a  rose  or  thistle. 

Hold  your  own 
An'  change  your  tone 
An'  whistle,  whistle,  whistle  ! 

A  song  is  worth  a  world  o'  sighs. 

When  red  the  lightnings  play, 
Look  for  the  rainbow  in  the  skies 

An'  whistle  'em  away. 

Don't  mind  how  troubles  bristle, 
The  rose  comes  with  the  thistle. 

Hold  your  own 
An'  change  your  tone 
An'  whistle,  whistle,  whistle  ! 
140 


JUST   WHISTLE 


Each  day  comes  with  a  life  that's  new, 
A  strange,  continued  story, 

But  still  beneath  a  bend  o'  blue 
The  world  rolls  on  to  glory. 

Don't  mind  how  troubles  bristle ; 
Jest  take  a  rose  or  thistle. 

Hold  your  own 
An'  change  your  tone 
An'  whistle,  whistle,  whistle  ! 


141 


WHAT    THE   CAR  WHEELS  SANG 

I 

With  a  scream  of  the  whistle  our  farewell  said. 
And  into  the  blackness  of  night  we  sped 

On  and  on 

To  meet  the  dawn, 

Under  the  sky  where  the  stars  burned  red ; 
Past  hills  that  stood  where  the  snows  were  shed, 
Ghostly-white  as  the  shrouded  dead ; 

On  and  on 

To  meet  the  dawn  : 
True  hand  at  the  throttle  and  hope  ahead ! 

The  steel  rails  ringing — 

The  swift  wheels  singing  : 
"To  kith  and  kin,  O  hearts  that  roam — 
In  vine-wreathed  cot,  and  marble  dome, 
Over  the  world  we  bear  you  home  ! 

II 

Whirled    through    the    dark  where  the    black    steed 

drives 

Are  joys  and  sorrows  of  human  lives ; 
Laughing  and  weeping, 
And  children  sleeping 

142 


WHAT   THE   CAR   WHEELS    SANG 

On  the  breasts  of  glad  mothers  ;   and  wistful  wives ; 
The  clank  of  chains  and  the  grip  of  gyves  ! 

On  and  on 

To  meet  the  dawn 
Where  Light  the  soul  of  the  Darkness  shrives  ! 

The  steel  rails  ringing — 

The  mad  wheels  singing  : 

"  To  gloom  or  gladness,  O  hearts  that  roam — 
To  darkened  dwelling  or  marble  dome 
Over  the  world  we  bear  you  home !  " 

III 

There  are  hearts  that  listen  with  hope  and  fear 
For  the  signal  shrill  of  the  engineer : 

That  throb  and  thrill, 

At  that  signal  shrill : 

Does  it  bring  them  the  rose  or  the  rue  to  wear  ? 
The  song,  the  sigh,  or  the  burning  tear  ? 

On  and  on 

To  meet  the  dawn — 
The  black  night  dies,  and  the  hills  stand  clear  ! 

"  What  are  you  bringing, 

O  swift  wheels  singing — 
To  daisied  meadow  and  dew-sweet  loam  ?  " 

143 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


"  The  hearts  that  hunger — the  hearts  that  roam- 
Over  the  world  we  bear  them  home  !  " 

IV 

Old  friends,  old  loves,  in  a  rapture  wild- — 
Kiss  of  the  mother  and  clasp  of  the  child : 

The  night  is  gone — 

We  have  met  the  dawn ; 
Never  so  gladly  the  sweet  sun  smiled  [ 
Never  the  spirit  of  Night  beguiled 

The  hand  so  true, 

That  the  throttle  knew — 
Bearing  the  burden  of  mother  and  child 

On  and  on 

To  the  joy  o'  the  dawn  ! 

With  ever  that  song  to  the  hearts  that  roam — 
"  To  vine-wreathed  cot  and  marble  dome 
Over  the  world  we  bear  you  home  !  " 


144 


MORNING  AND  NIGHT 

We  cannot  know  the  way — 

Or  if  it  lead  to  darkness,  or  to  light ; 
It  is  but  this:  To  see  the  rainbow-ray — 
To  dream  the  dream — to  do  the  deed  to-day, 

And  then,  good-night ! 


145 


A  SONG  OF  LIFE 

No  sighs  for  love,  my  hearty  !     There's  more  in  life 

to-day 
Than  weeping  for  a  woman ;  Swift  rolls  the  world 

away ! 
The  times  are  ever  changing — brave  deeds  there  are 

to  do; 
Why  weep,  then,  for  a  woman  who  will  not  weep 

for  you  ? 

No  sighs  for  love,  my  hearty — no  rainy  April  eyes  ! 
With  all  the  light  around  you,  think  of  a  world  of 

sighs ! 
The  green  is  on  the  meadow,  the  hills  climb  near  the 

blue  ; 
Why  weep,  then,  for  a  woman  who  will  not  weep 

for  you  ? 

No  tears — no  sighs,  my  hearty  !     To   moan,  when 

dark  clouds  pass 

And  let  the  living  light  out,  "  Alas  !  Alas  !  Alas  !  " 
Brave    rivers  seaward  singing — the  rose  o'ertops  the 

rue  ; 
Why  weep,  then,  for  a  woman  who  will   not  weep 

for  you  ? 


A   SONG   OF  LIFE 


Fare  to  the  fight !     The  battle  is  for  the  brave  and 

strong ; 

Fast  flies  the  time,  my  hearty  ;   Life  is  a  battle  song  ! 
Stern  foes  are  swift  advancing  ;  brave  deeds  there  are 

to  do  ; 
Why  weep,  then,  for  a  woman  who  will  not  weep 

for  you  ? 


THE  CALL  OF  FREEDOM 

When  freedom  calls  in  thunder  tones, 

Far  sea  to  sea  replies, 
And  God  the  cause  of  freedom  owns 

And  thunders  from  the  skies. 

The  highest  law  is  freedom's  word, 
And  where  her  sons  have  bled 

Each  wind-swayed  reed  becomes  a  sword 
To  strike  oppression  dead. 

Holy  her  cause,  and  he  who  fights, 

Contending  for  a  clod 
Where  freedom  mourns  her  ruined  rights, 

A  hero  is  to  God. 


148 


A  PRAYER  OF  GIFTS 

I 

Give  us  no  other  art 

Than  knowing  to  be  kind ; 
Give  us  the  thankful  heart, 

Light  where  we  walk  so  blind. 

II 

Give  us  to  think  no  ill — 
Forgive  as  we're  forgiven, 

With  earth  and  thy  dear  will 
Sweet  as  a  dream  of  heaven. 


149 


TO  THE  FIELDS 

Be  thankful  to  the  fields, 

Though  summer's  sweets  lie  dead  ; 
It  was  their  fleece  that  clothed  you, 

Their  green  blades  brought  you  bread. 


150 


ALONE  WITH  THE  DREAM 

Yellowed  leaves  and  a  dusty  cover — 

Dim  and  gray  with  the  dust  of  years. 
It  was  the  gift  of  a  long-lost  lover — 

A  gift  of  love  and  a  gift  of  tears. 

A  withered  rose  and  a  leaf  of  clover 

From  the  beautiful  gardens  far  away. 
Is  the  dream  of  love  so  quickly  over  ? 

What  does  the  heart  of  the  woman  say  ? 

She  hears  the  bells  of  the  May-time  ringing : 
She  sees  the  May  with  its  blooms  depart. 

These  were  songs  of  her  lover's  singing, 
But  the  dust  is  over  the  lover's  heart. 

Her  first  sweet  love  !     ...     He  is  calling — calling 

Back  to  the  beautiful,  vanished  past ; 
Tears  on  the  time-worn  pages  falling. 

The  woman  weeps  o'er  the  dream  at  last ! 

And  was  there  never  on  earth  another — 
— A  dearer  love  than  the  olden  one  ? 
Kissing  her  lips,  a  child  cries,  "  Mother !  " 
The  book  is  closed,  and  the  dream  is  done ! 


A   BALLAD 

I  am  glad  that  my  lady  can  weep  when  she  will, 
And  thus  bring  the  swords  of  the  gallants  to  play. 

Who  hath  broken  her  heart  ?      It  is  adamant  still ; — 
She  will  trifle  their  own  hearts  away ! 

Her  glance  can  entrance,  as  their  keen  swords  can 
kill: 

I  am  glad  that  my  lady  can  weep  when  she  will  ! 

I  am  glad  that  my  lady  can  weep  :  She  hath  made 
Dim  eyes   where  the   sunshine   dwelt   tender   and 
bright. 

I  marvel,  sometimes,  that  she  is  not  afraid 
Of  the  ghosts  of  the  night ! 

Their  pitiful  faces  my  own  heart  would  thrill : 

I  am  glad  that  my  lady  can  weep  when  she  will ! 

She  can  weep — she  can  sigh — but  the  day  comes  apace 
When   the  ghosts  will  not   down  !      When  in  si 
lence  apart 
She  will  feel  the  real  tears  on  her  pallid,  drawn  face, 

And  the  pang  at  the  heart ! 
Then  the  pale  ghosts  will  triumph — and  keen  swords 

will  kill  :- 

I  am  glad  that  my  lady  can  weep  when  she  will ! 
152 


A  SONG  OF   HOPE 

Night,  and  no  star 

To  guide  the  weary  and  the  wandering  feet : 
And  yet  I  know  somewhere  the  lights  shine  far, 

And  breaks  the  Morning  sweet. 

Night,  and  black  skies 

Above  the  brave  ships,  tossing  on  the  foam  j 
And  yet  I  know  somewhere  the  Harbor  lies 

Radiant  with  Love  and  Home  ! 

Night — but  for  me 

Still  light !  light !  light !  where  darkest  storms  shall 

cease ; 
O  lonely  land  !      O  black,  tempestuous  sea — 

I  pass  from  you  to  Peace  ! 


ON  THE  MARCH 

Don't   know  where  she's  goin'   to  —  this   country  o' 

the  free; 
She's  got  the  land,  an'  now  her  hand  is  reachin'  for 

the  sea  ! 

Her  ships  on  all  the  waters  —  the  rollin'  of  her  drums 
Is  heard  where  nations  murmur  :  "  She  comes  !     She 

comes  !     She  comes  !  " 


Don't  know  where  she's  goin'  to,  but  still  she's  goin' 

fast; 

She's  ready  for  the  battle  —  she's  bravin'  every  blast. 
Her  soldiers  march  in  millions  —  the  blue  linked  with 

the  gray, 
And  the  Stars  and  Stripes  are  wavin'  across  the  world 

to-day  ! 

Don't  know  where  she's  goin'  to,  but  stormy  day  or 

night— 
In  peace,  in  strife  —  for  death,  for  life  our  country's 

goin'  right  ! 

Her  flag's  on  every  ocean  —  the  music  of  her  drums 
Is  heard  where  nations  murmur  :  "  She  comes  !     She 

comes  !     She  comes  !  " 
154 


THE  OFT-TOLD  TALE 

Thousands  of  years  the  tale  is  told, 

And  even  as  a  day, 
With  all  their  needs,  and  dreams,  and  deeds 

The  centuries  roll  away. 

But  the  world  is  ever  young, 

And  life  the  future  craves; 
And  the  roses  hide  where  the  dead  abide, 

And  the  world  forgets  its  graves. 


TO  A   SINGER 

(On  Reading  a  Volume  from  Over  the  Sea.) 

Still  by  the  hill  and  glen, 

And  where  the  cities  throng, 

They  break  the  singer's  heart ;  and  then 
They  glory  in  the  song. 

Come  hither  :  lo,  the  woods 
Of  the  sun's  beams  are  fain ; 

Sounds  in  the  dreary  solitudes 
The  requiem  of  the  rain. 

Thy  lips  are  ruby-red — 

Thy  hands  are  soft  and  white, 

And  the  wide  world  is  comforted 
Of  thy  dear  eyes  of  light. 

Thou  see'st,  dear  heart,  afar 
The  soul — the  song  intense, 

And  roamest  where  Faith's  angels  are 
In  heaven's  magnificence. 

156 


To  A   SINGER 


Lifting  thine  eyes  above — 
Sweeping  the  loftier  scene  ; 

Thou  see'st  the  pallid  ghost  of  Love 
Over  earth's  graves  of  green. 

Over  earth's  graves  of  green, 
Walled  in  of  sand  and  sod  ; 

And  makest  still  a  song  serene 
That  thrills  the  throne  of  God. 

That  thrills  the  faith-formed  throne 
'Neath  which  the  star-wraiths  drift ; 

For  in  the  ages,  dark, — unknown — 
God's  was  the  singer's  gift ! 

Yet,  with  His  lightnings  hurled 
The  darkened  heavens  along, 

What  to  the  rude  and  rushing  world 
The  melody  of  song  ? 

Sing  till  the  rivers  sing ! 

Sing  till  the  firm  hills  shake ! 
Sing  'till  the  seas  are  answering — 

Sing  till  the  heart  shall  break  ! 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


Thou  shalt  find  little  part 

In  earth's  scant  love  and  trust; 

But  for  thy  sweetest  song,  Sweetheart, 
Measures  of  tears  and  dust ! 

Yet  sing !   for  song  is  still 

Of  graces  the  one  grace  ; 
The  singers  who  God's  word  fulfill 

Shall  see  Him  face  to  face. 

Sing  thou  of  love  that  lives 

Where  strifes  and  hatreds  throng; 
That,  being  wounded,  still  forgives — 

That  suffers  and  is  strong. 

No  pence  shall  fill  thy  purse ; 

(Thy  soul  hath  starved  too  long  !) 
For  well  we  know  gold  is  the  curse — 

The  broad  world's  curse  of  song  ! 

Sing  not  for  worldly  gain — 

Sing  not  for  dark  or  fair  : 
Sing  thou  in  pleasure,  peace  and  pain, 

Because  the  song  is  there  ! 


To  A   SINGER 


Sing  brave,  and  be  content, 
When  the  world-thunders  roll, 

That  in  the  night  a  great  Voice  sent 
A  message  to  thy  soul ! 

For  still  by  hill  and  glen, 
And  where  the  cities  throng 

They  break  the  singer's  heart  and  then 
They  glory  in  the  song. 


THE   PASSING   OF   A   HERO 

Nat  Jones  had  been  a-readinj  'bout  the  novelists  of 

late 
That  made  enough  to  corner  half  the  country's  real 

estate ; 
'Bout  the  hundred  thousand  copies  that  the  sufferin' 

public  took, 
An'  says  he  :  u  I've  'bout  decided  I  wuz  born  to  write 

a  book  ! 

"  It  '11  help  to  paint  the  homestead,  send  the  children 

all  to  school, 

Buy  Sally  a  pianner,  take  the  mortgage  off  the  mule. 
Too  long  I've  hid   my   talents,  jest    encumberin'  the 

groun' 
They'll  be  runnin'  me  fer  congress  ef  I  keep  a-loafin' 

'roun'  !  " 

So,  without  no  more  considering  says  he  :  "  I'll  jest 
begin." 

Bought  a  quart  of  ink,  an'  pens  enough  to  fence  the 
cattle  in ; 

An'  he  turned  out  blotted   pages  worse  than  "  moon 
shine  "  from  the  stills, 

An'  'twuz  jest  a  benediction  to  the  busy  paper  mills. 
160 


THE   PASSING   OF   A   HERO 

But  his  family  got  anxious,  an'   'twuz   noticed  'roun' 

the  town 
Whatever  he    wuz    writin'    up,    he    kept    a-thinnin' 

down  : 
With  the  sorrow  of  the  ages  showin'   solemn  in  his 

face 
He   went   around   as   mournful    as   a   sinner   lost  to 

grace. 

"  I  tell  you,  I'm  in  trouble  " — the  same  wuz  plain  to 

see — 

"  That  everlastin'  hero  is  a-gittin'  'way  with  me ! 
In  the  middle  o'  the  story,  when  I  had   him  safe  an' 

soun', 
He  took  a   dost  o'  pizen,  an'  I  jest  can't  bring  him 

'roun'  !" 

An'  the  sympathizin'  citizens  would  tell  him,  with  a 

sigh, 
"  Perhaps  the  thing  wuz  Providence  :   It  wuz  his  time 

to  die." 
An'  at  that  he'd  leave  'em,  scowlin',  an'  sit  him  down 

again 

An'  resurrect  that  hero  with  one  splutter  o'  the  pen  ! 
161 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


An*  next  day,  when  they'd   meet   him,  with  u  How's 

yer  hero's  health  ?  " 
He'd  smile,  an'  tell  'em  :  "  Old  man  died  an'  left  him 

lots  o'  wealth  ; 
But    the    thing   that  sorter  puzzles  me,  an'  circum 

scribes  his  glory, 
Is,  where  the  old  man  come   from  —  fer  there  warn't 

none  in  the  story  ! 

"  I've  got  to  make  a  place  for  him,  but  how  it's  to  be 

done 

Is  more'n  I  kin  tell  you,  'less  I  start  where  I  begun  ! 
An'   hang   this   novel   writin'  !    it's   a-turnin'    of  me 


_ 
An'  that  miserable  hero'll   be   the  death  o'   me  some 

day  !  " 

His  case  wuz  gittin'  desperate  :   He  jest  thinned  down 

until 

Doctors  an'  undertakers  said  he'd  shortly  fill    the  bill. 
Some  said  his   mind  wuz   failin',  but  the  wise  an'  the 

elect 
Said   it   couldn't  be   affected,  since   he   had   none   to 

affect. 

162 


THE   PASSING   OF   A   HERO 

At  last  he  seen  a  specialist,  who  told  him  plump  an* 

plain 
He  wuz  born   fer  exercisin'  of  his   muscles — not  his 

brain  ; 

An'  he  listened  to  that  sayin',  an*  quit  a-writin'  tales : 
Jest  throwed  his  hero  overboard   an'  went  to  splittin' 

rails. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SOUTH 

(On  the  Statue  of  Henry  W.  Grady,  Atlanta,  Ga.) 

Over  the  wreck  of  his  Atlanta  he 

Heard  music  in  the  rills ; 
"  New  lighted,  like  the  herald  Mercury  " 

On  "  heaven-kissing  hills." 

And  to  the  North,  the  East,  the  West  he  said  : 

"  Lo  !   from  the  thunder-strife, 
And  from  the  blown,  white  ashes  of  the  dead 

We  rise  to  larger  life !  " 

And  senates  listened,  and  the  states,  made  one, 

Cried,  with  their  captains  grand  : 
"  Over  our  glad  breasts  shines  the  same  great  sun, 

And  God  lights  all  the  land  !  " 

And  now  !    .    .    .    From  this  old  tenement — sublime, 

Since  here  his  steps  were  known — 
I  see  him !    .    .    .    And  he  triumphs  over  time 

And  looks  back  to  his  own  ! 
164 


THE   VOICE   OF   THE   SOUTH 


Friend  of  humanity  !      Where  thou  must  be 

Do  the  dashed  rains  feel  chill  ? 
Look  from  thy  cold,  bronzed  pedestal  and  see 

Thine  own  Atlanta  still ! 

Look  where   she  comes,   and   hear  her  brave   heart 
beat — 

No  more  despised,  disowned, 
But — even  while  kneeling  at  thy  sculptured  feet, 

A  very  queen  enthroned  ! 

Look  where  her  marts  are  busy  !   where  the  world 

Comes  in  its  peace  and  pride, 
And  as  the  lightnings  round  thy  brow  are  hurled, 

Think  !      'Twas  for  this  you  died  ! 

Beam,  lovely  world  !      With  April  and  with  May 

His  deathless  brow  defend  ! 
What  greater  man  than  him — content  to  lay 

His  life  down  for  his  friend  ? 


A  GEORGIA  COURTSHIP 

Bill  Jones  had  been  a-courtin'  of  Sairy-Ann — let's  see  : 

Fer  'bout  a  year,  I  reckon,  'fore  she  fell  in  love  with 
me  ; 

And  Bill,  he  had  a  daddy  what  had  money,  well  as 
Ian', 

And  that's  why  Bill  was  hopin'  that  he'd  marry  Sairy- 
Ann. 

In  fact,  the  thing  wuz  settled ;  Sairy's  daddy  he  wuz 

— well, 
When  his  cotton  paid  the  mortgage  didn't  have  a  bale 

to  sell ; 

An'  he  kept  a-gittin'  poorer,  an'  goin'  down  the  hill, 
An'  that's  why  he  wuz  hopin'   fer   a  son-in-law  in 

Bill. 

One  day  he  said  to  Sairy  :  u  If  Jones's  Bill  should  say 
That  he's  tired  of  livin'  single,  you  jest  let  him  name 

the  day ; 

He's  a  mighty  likely  feller,  an'  if  marryin'  is  his  plan 
You'd  better  close  the  bargain  while  it's  ofFerin',  Sairy- 
Ann." 

166 


A   GEORGIA   COURTSHIP 

An'   Sairy   thought    it    over,  an'   was    lovin'    of   him 

strong, 
For  she  didn't  know   no  better  till   /  took  an'  come 

along  ; 
An'  then,  'twuz  "  Goodby,  Billy  !  "    It  wuz  plain  he 

warn't  the  man 
What  had  been  predestinated  fer  to  marry  Sairy- Ann. 

But  he  'lowed  Pd  never  do  it — marry  Sairy — an'  he 

went 

A-talkin'  it  jest  thataway  all  round  the  settlement ; 
An'   as   fer    Sairy's    daddy — he  wuz  mad  enough  to 

kill, 
An'  he  loaded  up  his  shotgun  an'  said  :  "  Sairy  is  fer 

Bill !  " 

Warn't  any  chance  of  meetin'  with  Sairy :      Day  by 

day 
I   kept   a  thinkin',  thinkin'   how   we'd  take   an'   run 

away, 
But  the  old  man  knowed  a  trick  or  two  what  beat  the 

tricks  I  knowed, 
An'  when  it  comes  to  shotguns — well,  /  don't  dispute 

the  road  ! 


UP  FROM   GEORGIA 


But  Fd  set  my  mind  to  git  her,  an'  her  mind  wuz  set 

fer  me, 
So  I  kept  right  on  a-schemin',  jest  as  hopeful  as  could 

be; 
Fer  I  knowed  in  spite  of  shotguns  an'  bull-dogs  at  the 

gates, 
That,  like  the  tax-collector,  things'll  come  to  them 

what  waits. 

An'  they  come  !     'Twuz  Sairy's  birthday,  an'  the  old 

man — he  wuz  proud  ! 
He  give  a    phantom  party — had  the  biggest  kind  of 

crowd  ! 

There  was  dancin'  by  the  riddle,  an'  a  lot  of  gals  to  ask, 
An'  at  these  here  phantom  parties  everybody  wears  a 

mask. 

I  went — dressed    as    a    woman — frills    an'    flounces 

flyin'  high  ! 
An'  the  way  the  old  man   met  me  !     .     .     .     I  jest 

thought  that  I  would  die  ! 
"  Walk  this  way,  ma'am  !      Hang  yer  hat  up  ;  have 

this  rocker  fer  a  seat  !  " 
(An'  I  hadn't  more'n  crossed  my  legs  'fore  some  one 

said  :  «  What  feet  /") 
168 


A   GEORGIA   COURTSHIP 

I  wuz  feelin'  kinder  curious  :  mule  an'  buggy  there, 

outside, 
An'  no  chance  to  whisper  Sairy  if  she'd  like  to  take  a 

ride  ? 
But  I  finally  got  to  her,  pinched  her  arm  an'  made 

her  know, 
An'  when    she   got   done  laughin'  she  jest   told  me : 

«  Yes,  she'd  go  !  " 

But   the    old    man — it    wuz    funny !    follerin'   me    all 

roun'  the  hall ! 
He  took  a.  fancy  to  me  !      Said  :   "  He  liked  a  woman 

tall!" 

(I  wuz  most  afeared  he'd  ax  me  fer  to  marry  him,  an'  so 
I  kept  him  at  a  distance,  kaze  I'd    had  to   tell   him 

«  No  !  " 

He  talked  this  way  :  "  It's   lonesome  fer  a   widower 

like  me, 
An'  when  Sairy-Ann  gits  married  to  Billy,  where'll  I 

be? 
No  one  to  love  an'  talk  to  when  the  evenin'  shadders 

flit— 
I   reckon  you  ain't   married  ?  "       (An'   I   told   him  : 

"  No  ;   not  yit  !  ") 

169 


UP   FROM   GEORGIA 


He   was  jest  about    proposin'  when  Sairy  pulled  my 

sleeve, 
An'  I  knowed  that  wuz  the  signal  that  'twuz  gittin' 

time  to  leave  ! 
So  I  edged  off  from   him  quiet  to  the  back  door — 

open  wide — 
Got  Sairy  in  the  buggy  an* — wuz  ready  fer  the  ride  ! 

Away    we    went    a  -  dashin'  through    the    darkness ! 

.     .     .     Never  knowed 
When   I  come  to  think  it  over,  how  that  old  mule 

kept  the  road ! 
Over   stumps,  an*  over   ditches,  with   a  jostle   an'  a 

jolt!      .     .     . 
But   Sairy's   arms   wuz    round    me,   an'   I    hollered : 

"  Keep  yer  bolt  !  " 

There  warn't  nobody  follerin' :  They  hadn't   missed 

us,  an' 
If  they  had,  it  didn't  matter,  fer  they  thought  /  warn't 

a  man ! 

But  it  warn't  no  time  fer  triflin',  so  we  kept  a-flyin'  still 
'Till  we  struck  the  ordinary's — jest  this  side  o'  Wells's 

Mill. 

170 


A    GEORGIA   COURTSHIP 

Then  we  both  got  out  the  buggy  :   Sairy  frightened, 

more  or  less, 
An'  me  fishin'  fer  the  license    an' — a-gittin'  out  that 

dress  ! 
An'  when   I'd  got    the    muslin'   an'   the    hoops   from 

round  my  boots, 
I  stood  'longside  of  Sairy  in  the  best  of  weddin'  suits ! 

We  wuz  married  in  a  minute,  an'  in  drivin'  back  to  town 
We  hearn   a  heap  of  hollerin' — seen  lights    a-flashin' 

roun'  : 
'Twas  the  old  man's  phantom  party — stumblin'  over 

roots 
An'  bridges,  huntin'  Sairy  an'  that  woman  with  the — 

boots  ! 

We  drove  right  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd — I  seen 

it  all  !- 
The    old    man — he   looked   daggers,  an' — Bill  Jones 

looked  awful  small  ! 
But  I   seen  the  old  man  weaken   when   I   told   him  : 

"  Don't  feel  blue  : 
I  wuz  promised  to  your  daughter,  an'  I  couldn't  marry 


you  / 


171 


THE  SWEETEST   OF   MEMORY'S 
BELLS 

Wild  is  the  way  through  the  woodland,  but  there   are 

the  sweet  fields  of  clover — 
The  sighing,  sad  pines  and  the  jessamine  vines  and 

the  rill  that  leaps  laughingly  over 
The  lilies  that  rim  it — the   shadows  that  dim  it ;  and 

there,  winding  winsomely  sweet, 
Is  the  path  that  still  leads  to  the  old  home  through 

rivery  ripples  of  wheat ! 

And  hark !  'tis  the  song  of  the   reapers,  and  I  know 

by  its  jubilant  ringing 
There  is  gold  in  the  gleam  of  the  harvest  and  love  in 

the  hearts  that  are  singing  ; 
And  still  as  of  old  to  the  ether  its  music  mellifluous 

swells, 
And  the   wind   that   sighs    westward  is  swaying  the 

sweetest  of  Memory's  bells  ! 

Let  me  pass  through  the  wheat  and  the  clover — O 

men  and  rose-maidens  who  reap  ! 
I,  who  come  from  the  sound  of  the  cities,  like  a  child 

to  its  mother  would  creep  ; 
172 


THE   SWEETEST   or  MEMORY'S   BELLS 

For  through  long  years  of  tears  and  of  toiling,  like 

harbor-bells  over  the  foam 
Your  voices  far  winging  and  ringing  were  singing  me 

— singing  me  home  ! 

And  now,  from  the  pain  and  the  pleasure — from  the 

sorrow  and  sighing  I  flee 
Like  the  birds  when  the  storm-winds   are  blowing — 

like  the  ships  seek  the  haven  from  sea  ! 
And  I  fancy  the  violets  know  me  in  gardens  of  beauty 

and  bliss  ; 
And  do  not  the  red  roses  owe  me  the  peace  of  the 

prodigal's  kiss  ? 

The  sun  is  still  bright  at  the  portal ;  there  the  love- 
light  all  radiant  shines  ; 

Heart  !  heart  !  there's  a  face  we  remember  in  the 
tangle  and  bloom  of  the  vines  ! 

Far  off  the  glad  reapers  are  singing — far  off  in  the 
rivery  wheat, 

And  the  arms  of  a  mother  are  clinging,  and  the  kiss 
of  a  mother  is  sweet ! 


iN    THE    CITY 

A  shadow  creeps  to  the  sun,  that  seems 

Like  a  soul  with  a  guilty  stain  ; 
A  silver  drop  on  the  pavement  gleams  : 

Thank  God  for  the  rain,  the  rain  ! 

The  burning  dust  of  the  blazing  street 
Is  dimpled.     From  o'er  the  plain 

The  cool  wind  comes  with  a  kiss  that's  sweet 
And  riots  along  the  rain  ! 

The  gamins  whistle  ;  the  teamsters  bare 
Their  brows  for  a  moment's  space ; 

From  sweltering  casements  the  children  stare 
At  the  drops  in  the  rainy  race  ! 

And  the  heart  of  the  city  beats  for  joy, 

And  the  sick  forget  their  pain  : 
And  one  looks  down  on  a  barefoot  boy 

And  longs  for  his  youth  again  ! 


RAIN 


IN    THE    COUNTRY 

The  broad  fields  burn  in  the  noonday  sun 

And  the  lily  looks  forlorn  ; 
And  the  freshness  fades  from  the  dusty  blades 

Of  the  waveless,  windless  corn. 

The  cattle,  with  never  a  clank  of  bells, 
Lie  still  by  the  shadowed  streams  ; 

The  birds  are  mute  in  the  drowsy  dells, 
When  sudden  the  lightning  gleams 

Far  off  on  the  horizon's  misty  marge, 
And  up  from  the  south  there  comes 

Cloud  on  cloud,  in  a  battle  charge, 
And  the  thunder  rolls  its  drums  ! 

And  the  corn  grows  glad  and  its  silks  are  tossed, 

And  the  lily  drinks  the  drops 
That  the  warring  clouds  in  their  anger  lost  — 

Life  !  life  !  to  the  thirsting  crops  ! 

And  one  looks  out  from  a  cabin  door 

And  then  to  a  woman  speaks  : 
"  We'll  have  a  harvest  thet's  fine,  I'm  shore, 

Ef  it  jest  don't  rain  six  weeks  !  " 


WILLIAM   McKINLEY 

I 

Weeping  skies  that  would  seem  to  deplore  him 

Cast  shadows  on  stars  and  on  suns ; 
Drooped  flags  that  are  shivering  o'er  him 

To  a  far-rolling  thunder  of  guns  ! 
And  great  bells  that  rock  the  starred  steeples 

And  moan  to  the  heavens  above, 
But  dearer  than  all  things — a  people's 

Devotion  and  love  ! 

II 

O  Northland  and  Southland  far-sighing 

Your  grief,  in  this  hour  unblest, 
He  died  for  his  country,  and  dying 

Was  folded  in  Love  to  her  breast. 
In  the  storm  of  the  battle  he  towered 

A  beacon — a  strength  to  the  brave, 
And  Freedom,  low-kneeling,  has  showered 

Her  tears  on  his  grave. 

' 


WILLIAM   McKiNLEY 
III 

Fall,  flags,  o'er  the  sod  where  he's  lying; 

Moan,  winds  of  the  world,  as  ye  sweep 
Over  States  unto  sad  States  replying, 

O'er  oceans  where  deep  calls  to  deep  ! 
Clasp  hands  Time  shall  never  dissever, 

Though  Fate  strike  with  wrath  and  with  rod, 
Where  he  rests  in  a  world's  Love  forever — 

In  the  great  Peace  of  God  ! 


177 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9  530939 

Stanton,    F.L. 
Up   from  Georgia 


PS2905 
U7 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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